


Someplace that isn't Burning

by AvaJune



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cussing, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, Masturbation, Mostly TV Canon and Characters, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Praise Kink, Rape Recovery, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-12-30 17:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 46,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12113280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaJune/pseuds/AvaJune
Summary: After the betrayals and the battles, after the dragons, after the Septon and the Boltons and Littlefinger, after Gregor and the winter and a dark world and a blood soaked kingdom: A life worth something is hard to find and even harder to keep. But if one can be brave and gentle and strong, at least sometimes, there is hope for two lost souls in the dark.A story about finding comfort and love where you least expect it.





	1. This Time Around

**Author's Note:**

> The Glitch Mob - Our Demons (feat. Aja Volkman)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VkvOLB7Yzhs
> 
> Pinterest Board: https://www.pinterest.com/avajunewrites/sandor-and-sansa/

Sandor Clegane spat on the ground as he rode through the rain and the mud, chuckling darkly at the sheer hatred he bore to be returning to King's Landing. He'd been so many things : Joffrey's Sworn Sword, the brother of Gregor, indebted to Septon Ray, the Hound, man of the Brotherhood without banners.

One thing he had never been, never wanted to be, was a bloody Lord. But the Dragon Queen was seated on the iron throne and her raven did not bare a request, and Sandor suspected a lord was exactly what she was going to ask him to be. The letter had been a lot of chatter with very little substance. "... Summons you to King's Landing... The matter of Clegane's Keep... Uniting Westeros..." More bloody squawking from another pretty bird. 'But I bet she is nothing when compared to my little bird,' he thought. It was the very last line that had intrigued him, and it's only just enough to make this trip tolerable.

"I have a rather interesting proposal for you, one of a somewhat private nature. You are urged to come to the Red Keep as quickly as possible, so that we may settle this matter swiftly." 

Sandor was completely unclear on what, if anything, was left of Clegane's Keep. He had not visited since before Gregor became the Lord of the Keep, and frankly, he had no interest in breaking that little tradition. He did not want to go to the home of his blood stained ancestors and he did not want to go to the Red Keep. However, as was often true in Sandor's life, what he wanted mattered very little and someone with a lot more power than he was going to tell him exactly what he would be fucking doing. Whoever this girl was, she had to be better than the cunt of the king that he had served before. It was hard to be lower than Joffrey. But that wasn't a lot of comfort to Sandor, who simply wished to continue with his very active life of doing absolutely nothing at all and answering to no one. For the first time, no one else decided what he did with his hours and he liked it, a lot.

"Guess that's bloody well over..." he grumbled to himself as he passed through the gates, leading him into the palace he had wished to never see again.  


\---

Daenerys Targaryen, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, would not even reach his breastplate where she to be standing in front of him. But she wasn't standing in front of him, instead she sat perched on the iron throne, and looking for all the world like a lost little girl. But that was just how she looked. Her demeanor and her eyes were royalty as far as Sandor could tell, and Sandor had seen his fair share of royalty.

At least there weren't any fucking dragons inside the Keep.

"Lord Clegane," she spoke, indicating for him to rise from his position on his knees. "Thank you for replying to our summons so eagerly. I am sure you have other things to be doing but the matter of the Clegane's Keep must be addressed."

She said 'our summons,' but he was suspiciously aware that aside from one guard, no one else was in the throne room. Sandor sighed under his breath. "Not a lord, your grace," he gruffly reminded her.

She simply looked down at him imperiously and Sandor suddenly had the strangest sensation of feeling naked before her eyes. Based on the lack of horror-struck disgust on her guard's face, however, he was reasonably certain that all of his clothes were still on.

"Yes, well," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Not yet, at least. Although I'm certain you've probably guessed what I intend to ask you to do."

He strove very carefully to keep his voice even and not give away his frustration, as his frustration was always rather loud and he suspected the Queen may just view it as treason. His head may be ugly, but he was inclined to keep it all the same. "Your Grace, I don't want to be a bloody Lord. I don't want the keep, give it to some idiot whose favor you wish to reward. I'd rather cuddle a hornets nest than be the Lord of a fucking house. "

Daenerys bit her lip, and let out a small cough that may very well have been hiding a laugh. "Should you choose not to become Lord Clegane, it will make the other part of my proposal quite impossible. So perhaps we should discuss those terms before you turn me down flat."

Sandor's brow furrowed, but he nodded his assent to listen to what she had to say. What was he going to do, tell the fucking queen herself to shut it?

"I wonder, do you remember a young lady at court during the time that you were Joffrey's Sworn Sword? She was originally betrothed to the Lannister boy-king. She was a daughter of Ned Stark."

His mouth suddenly felt very dry. His little bird. He licked his lips. "Aye. Sansa Stark."

The Queen looked at him appraisingly. "Lady Stark is home in the North, with her brother Bran, now the Lord of Winterfell, as well as her sister Arya. I have received correspondence from Winterfell requesting aid in securing the marriage of Sansa Stark." 

Sandor shrugged, nonplussed. He didn't exactly like to think about it, but that's what ladies did. They became wives. One could only hope Sansa would be luckier this time around, considering the assholes she had already married. He didn't know a lot about it but the Imp was...well, the Imp. And the Bolton's used a flayed man to represent their house. Not a very welcoming bunch, the Boltons. "What does Lady Stark's  betrothal have to do with the me?"

She gave him a small grin, raising one eyebrow before addressing him, keeping strict eye contact the entire time. It was like a cat watching a mouse that it sincerely wanted to play with. "The marriage that they seek is for Lady Stark to join with Sandor Clegane, who would need to be Lord Clegane in order to complete the marriage contract."

Daenerys' smile widened as Sandor's jaw dropped and he stared at her, seemingly speechless.

"Of course," she told him, "This is hardly an issue. You are, afterall, the rightful heir to your family lands, since the death of your elder brother Gregor."

Completely forgetting himself, Sandor snorted loudly. "Seven Hells, no one wants me for a bloody husband. I think, your grace, you may have been the victim of an elaborate jape. No fucking way Bran wants me anywhere near his sister."

Daenerys looked down, smiling and shaking her head. "Although the letter did include Lord Stark's blessing and acceptance of the marriage, the request was made by the Lady herself."

Sandor felt the blood rushing loudly in his ears and briefly wondered if he had fallen off his horse and sustained some sort of concussion. There was no explanation for this save for it being a fever dream.

"This is just cruel..." he said to himself, his stomach rolling in anxiousness and despair all at once.

The Queen raised a single eyebrow. "To whom?"

To me, to her, to every dream I've ever had. "To her, Seven Hells! Her. She needs a nice, handsome Lord who will fullfill all her fancy little dreams of popping out nice, noble babes and a good house match. I'm not that man and there is no way by the seven that Sansa Stark wants to be married to the Hound."

She sighed. "Believe it or not, Clegane, war changes people's priorities and their worldview, often quite dramatically. Sansa is no longer a child, and furthermore, she is the cousin of my nephew, Jon, and a personal friend. I will not tell secrets that are not mine to share, but I will say that she is well equipped to make her own decisions and has chosen you of her own will and volition."

She met his eye again, peering into his ruined face. "A very brave thing for a woman of a noble house to do, by the way, demanding something for herself. Now, would you like to simply let this opportunity pass you by or can you at least match the daring of a girl half your age from a strong house who was taught nothing but embroidery and singing?"

Sandor opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. Fuck it, he thought. "I accept your damn offer of renewed Lordship and Clegane's Keep." As an after thought, he added on, "Your Grace."

"And the marriage?"

"I'll accept that too."

She smiled broadly. "Splendid."

\---

It took him a month to get to Clegane's Keep and survey the place. Another month was spent organizing the proper servants, setting some men to work on the damage time had taken, and setting it up to be a home to bring a wife to. Him, a lord. A wife, to Clegane's Keep. By the Seven, what the fuck was this world coming to?

It was another two months with a small party of men (HIS men now,) to reach the gates of Winterfell. He spent most of that time pissed off, horny as fuck, and murderously anxious. He had bellowed at one or another of his men so many times his throat felt scorched and his voice was even rougher than usual. His mind had been turning over ideas about what this was all about since the moment he had left the Red Keep. He considered that maybe the youngest Stark girl still had him on her list and this was a trap, so she could slit his throat once and for all. It seemed too elaborate though, too much effort when the little pup would just find him and do it if she was so inclined.

The Queen had named Sansa as a personal friend and told him the Little Bird had secrets that weren't the Dragon Queen's to tell, so he wondered if one of those secrets was the reason behind this whole thing. Sandor didn't really know what had happened to her after he left her at the keep. He had a few of the details, knew she'd spent time in the Eyrie, knew she'd been married to a Bolton. But it wasn't much to go on. Maybe she had a secret that needed killing. His blood boiled at the thought that someone may have done something to her. Hadn't she suffered enough with Joffrey? The Bolton's were pricks, down to the last, and he knew that there had been a battle for Winterfell and Jon had led it. But where had Sansa been during that? Yeah, he thought. That's gotta be it, it's the only answer that he could come up with. Even with her having been married before, she would have had plenty of offers. There was no reason for her to want the fucking Hound. He hadn't even been particularly nice to her, hadn't stopped Joffrey, as much as he'd ached to. She knew he wanted her, lusted for her, and he had been aware that terrified her. Who wanted to take THAT into their marriage bed? Surely not Sansa Stark.

He made a decision right there. If that was what she needed, he'd butcher for her happily. He'd make sure she was safe, just like he would have if she'd come with him. Well, she may not have been entirely safe from him, but no one else would have touched her. But he wasn't going to marry her, not unless she had a damned good reason. Oh, he'd become a fucking lord for her, he'd gone back to the home of nightmares for her, he'd traveled through the Icy North for her. All on the impossible chance she actually did, for some reason, want him. But girls like that were not made for men who had worn more blood on them than they had ever had in them. She didn't have to let him sully her bed to get him to do her bidding. All she need do was tug his fucking leash and he'd come running, hoping for any scrap of her affection, her smiles, her touches. And he fucking despised her for it, even if he despised himself more.

Upon riding through, He found himself met with the entire Stark household standing in a greeting line and had a momentary flashback to riding in with King Robert so many years ago. House Stark was much smaller now and didn't take up a third of the space the previous household did. And when that had happened, the little bird had been blushing over Joffrey, an unflowered, silly girl struck dumb with tales of knights and true love.

Now though...FUCK. Time had been kind to Sansa Stark. She was a pretty little thing when he knew her, at the Red Keep. But now she was a stunningly beautiful woman. What the fuck was he doing here? How could he possibly believe that this perfect lady could actually be his? He'd do her task and then get the fuck away from here, away from her, before he dirtied the only higher power he'd ever bothered to worship. He was honestly doubting whether he would be asked to leave, wondered how and why the gods had conspired to torture him with something he craved so badly that would never be meant for him, when her blue stare caught his and she smiled widely, genuinely, eyes twinkling.

Sandor thought he might fall off his horse under the intensity of that smile, directed at him of all people. Then he realized he would do damn near anything just to see that smile again and he could almost curse her for making him into a pathetic puddle of a man. The Hound, turning soft as silk, finally finishing off any restraint he had for her. Soon he'd be writing fucking poetry. He schooled his face into a scowl.

The little bird tittered out a little giggle, never looking away from him, and he felt his heart thump hard in his chest. He narrowed his eyes in warning. She ignored him.

Bran sat on a movable chair of sorts, with wheels like a carriage. A man only a little smaller than Sandor waited behind him. As Sandor dismounted, handing the reins to the stable boy with growled instructions and threats in equal measure, Bran signaled the man to wheel him forward to meet his soon-to-be brother and welcome him to Winterfell.

"Lord Clegane," he greeted formally, tipping his head ever so slightly. "Welcome to Winterfell. How was your trip?"

Sandor fought not to roll his eyes at the small talk that he really, really did not want to be doing right now. He failed. "Wet, cold, and far too fucking long."

Bran looked at him closely, not saying anything, simply studying his face for a long moment. Sandor had the distinct impression that the Lord of Winterfell was seeing through him. His face grimaced slightly, finding this to be more than a little unnerving. After what seemed like a very, very long time, Bran said, "I believe you know both my sisters."

Sandor startled slightly, the boy had after all just started talking as if there had been no silent, creepy appraisals, but hoping to just get this over with so he could sleep in a real bed for a change, he simply nodded. "Aye," he told the younger man.

Bran nodded, calling his servant back to push his chair. "Come then." Sandor followed the chair, crossing the 20 or so feet to stop in front of his Little Bird and Arya. Sansa opened her mouth to speak but Arya quickly stepped in front of her, arms crossed, staring daggers at Sandor.

He raised his eyebrow and she frowned up at him. "I believe that last I left you, you were supposed to be dead."

Sansa smacked her shoulder. "Arya!" she admonished. "You can't be-"

Sandor interrupted Sansa's chastisement of the younger Stark girl, grinning down at her dark hair and sharp eyes. "Aye she wolf, you should have finished it. Now look where we are: we're to be family."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "I don't regret not ending you," she said nonchalantly. Sansa groaned softly behind her, but Arya ignored her. Sandor was a little surprised to hear that, but kept his face carefully blank. "Still," Arya continued, "That could change if you were to ever harm my sister."

Sandor couldn't help the little smirk that twisted onto his face. Some things stayed the same, at least. The wolf bitch still had teeth and she had always been his second favorite "high born lady".

Sansa made a pained noise before pointedly stepping in front of Arya and linking her arm with Sandor's. She was saying something, he could tell, but he was too busy staring at her to listen. The large man allowed himself to be drug towards the Stark Home and away from the courtyard. Logically, he knew he couldn't feel the heat of her hand on his arm, since he was wearing furs and multiple layers. But somehow, his brain did not get that message because he could swear her skin was so hot it burned into him. Not like fire, but like whiskey, making him drunk on her. They climbed the stairs and he watched her greet everyone they passed, and that meant EVERYONE regardless of class or title, and wondered absently exactly how she remembered everyone's name.

She rushed him through the main hall, moving quickly out of the public areas before they arrived at a guest suite. Sandor watched with a raised brow as she gently tugged him through to the solar and then turned and barred the door. That in and of it self was fucking weird. Normally when pretty ladies were barring a door it was because they figured someone as big and mean looking as him wouldn't understand what no meant and he was firmly on the other side of said door. He'd never raped anyone though, not that anyone would have believed that claim. Regardless, here he stood in the middle of a guest quarters in Winterfell with his soon to be alleged wife and she had locked anyone else out. She had locked herself IN with him.

Then it occurred to him exactly where they were and what she was doing and he cleared his throat. "Aren't you supposed to have a chaperone or something?" He kicked himself internally for spewing what came to mind first. He didn't want to have to talk anyone other than her, so why the fuck would HE remind HER about propriety?

Sansa raised one haughty and perfectly sculpted eyebrow, looking every bit the lady her mother had been, before she broke down in giggles. "Why?" she asked him, waving her hand flippantly and walking over to the wine that sat on a long table. "To protect my virtue?"

She poured the wine into two cups and turned to him, handing one over as she went and set her own next to a chair by the fire. "Bit late for that, I'm afraid, Lord Clegane." He sighed heavily at the title, which is probably exactly why she used it, and Sansa laughed again, the sound clear and painfully beautiful, like a god damn song. He found his lip twitching upwards before he really processed what she said.

"Sansa..." he started, but he was quickly silenced when she stepped in front of him and reached up to undo the buckles holding his outer clothes together. She was so close to him, he could smell her and she smelt like the sweetest baked goods that had ever been made, always in someone else's kitchen. He just stood there though, like the dumb mutt he was, trying to process that Sansa Stark had in the last 10 minutes drug him away from other people to get him alone, barred the door, served him wine, and made a borderline dirty joke. And now, her hands were working to divest him of all unnecessary clothing and he just wasn't sure how to force this reality to make sense in his head. Gods, he wished she would stop pretending and just tell him where he fucking needed to go so she could be rid of him.

"What are you doing?" he asked dumbly as she popped the last button on an outer tunic, pulling the last bit of fabric from his body that could be considered anything near respectable. Not that he gave a shit, but anything more would be downright scandalous.

"I'm helping my fiance take off his riding clothes so he can sit down with me in front of this fire and have some wine." She smiled warmly at him, moving to set his clothes across the chest of drawers behind him. "And maybe, if I'm really lucky, some conversation."

Sansa moved to the armchair where she had left her wine and took a long sip. She looked over her shoulder at him and grinned. "Are you coming, my lord?"

"Not a bloody lord," he growled automatically, and he startled when Sansa gave a rather unladylike snort and choked on her wine.

"Can't really say that anymore, hmmm?" she reminded him with a wicked little smirk. "Come, sit...please."

Sandor briefly considered shaking her until this whole thing made an ounce of bloody sense, but he satisfied himself with sitting down heavily and glaring into the fire. He drank half his cup of wine in a gulp before he turned his glare onto her.

"What the hell is all this Sansa?" he grumbled.

Sansa's head snapped towards him and her brows furrowed. "I don't understa-...wh-what do you mean 'what is this'...?"

He chuckled once, mirthlessly. "We both know you don't want to marry a brute with half his face burned off. So what is it you do you want of me?"

"Oh, we both know that, do we?" she said quietly, turning her gaze back to the fire and her expression quickly turning blank.

"Yes, LADY STARK, we both know that. You forget, but I've known you from before your damn teats had even began to fill in and that pretty little head of yours has always been full of knights, true love, and fancy embroidery." He huffed out a laugh. "We both know what I'm good for and it ain't that."

Her gaze never left the fire and her tone remained unaffected as she asked him, "And what is that? What do we both believe you are good for?"

His face pulled into a twisted smile, the burnt side of his face morphing it into a much scarier expression. He told her the same thing he had told her all those years ago. "Killing is the sweetest thing."

"I see," she replied. "So it is your belief that I am in need of an assassin?"

He shrugged, downing the rest of his wine. "That or a shield. Either way, you don't have to become Lady Clegane or fuck me to get it." He chuckled to himself.

"Just point the way, and I'll obey like a loyal hound. You want to pay me back? Have someone bring me more wine."

Sansa stood silently, smoothing her skirts before she crossed to the other side of the room and picked up the wine jug. She walked back to him and poured him another glass, before gently setting the jug on the table beside him. His heart sank as she turned from him and he realized that he had been right about what she wanted, and he felt what little hope he held die in his chest.

But she took only a few steps away before turning back to him and meeting his eye. She stood with her shoulders back and squared, hands clasped delicately in front of her skirt, and Sandor took another long drink and waited for her to tell him where he was headed.

"Since I have listened patiently as you so thoroughly explained how WE feel, I hope you will allow me the same courtesy in listening to why I have asked you here and why I sought this marriage." Sansa's eyes never left his and her voice never wavered as she spoke softly and yet with authority.

"I wrote to her Grace as offers for my betrothal began to filter into Winterfell. While there were any number of Northern sons who wished to offer themselves to be considered for the position of my Lord Husband, I explained to Bran that I would never be forced into a marriage again, as it has never quite turned out very well for me and I'm afraid should I get any more scars, I may have hardly any unblemished skin left."

Sandor felt white hot rage boil into his chest. "Joffrey didn't cause more than a few scars. What fucking scars?!?"

Sansa raised a hand, and he realized she intended to be heard and if he wanted an answer to any of his questions, he'd have to wait. He snapped his mouth shut and grit his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

"In fact, I was very clear with Bran that should he feel strongly I remarry, there was only one man who I would consider. That man was Sandor Clegane, formerly known as the Hound, and only recently discovered to in fact be alive. He suggested I write the queen and ask for her aide in the form of a summons, so the idea could be presented to Clegane. Bran agreed to send his blessing along with the request if I swore an oath that should Clegane not wish to accept the Keep or the marriage, I would consider some of the other suitors. I agreed and waited impatiently to hear back. It was to my great happiness that I received word you had accepted."

She smiled softly, sadly, before quickly pulling her mask back in place.

"I understand now that I was mistaken. I am truly sorry that you have made such a trip under a misconception. I am not in need of a blade in the form of assassin nor shield. Rather, I sought an opportunity I thought quite lost after my refusal to leave with you at the Battle of Blackwater."

Sansa took two steps back, smoothing her skirts absentmindedly. "Well. Again, I am terribly sorry for any inconvenience this has caused you. I will let Bran know immediately so he can plan accordingly."

She turned her back and took another step towards the door. It was only then that Sandor was able to pierce through the fog in his brain to realize she was leaving, and she was leaving to tell Bran that Sandor did not want her.

"Please enjoy your stay in Winterfell," she said quietly. "Stay as long as you would like, I know you and your party need a rest. Though I imagine you'll want to leave as soon as you're able, there is no rush."

Sansa had reached the door and was beginning to unbar it when two large hands slammed down on the door on either side of her head. She squeaked, turning around wide eyed, pain and loss skimming over her face before she quickly looked down.

Sandor was breathing heavily and his voice came out graveled. "Little Bird..."


	2. Crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evanescence - Good Enough  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kw2Ic_2XdVQ

"Little Bird..."

'Oh GODS...' thought Sansa, shivering lightly at the deep timbre of his voice saying her name. She had thought she would never hear it again, and the words were so bittersweet that she had to take a few gulping breaths to regain her composure. 

"Sandor..." she whispered, reveling at the way his breath hitched when she said his name so quietly. She hadn't meant to, but she knew that she probably gave her self completely away, her voice containing a thousand secret thoughts and yearnings. But he had called her 'Little Bird.' Surely that meant something? Surely there was reason to hope.

"We're not done," he growled out, taking two steps back and pointing to the chair she had recently left. Sansa considered, but she knew that she had wanted this too long, had too many dreams to just completely give up on it now. So she sat, shoulders squared and hands resting delicately on her lap. Sandor had his armor, and whether he knew it or not, she had hers.

Sandor slumped down in his chair as well and Sansa waited patiently, keeping her eyes on the fire as he finished another glass of wine and poured himself one more. She wasn't overly concerned with this, it would take a lot more than what was in that wine jug for him to get well and truly drunk.

Finally, he spoke. "If you don't have anything that needs killing, than what on earth do you need of ME as a husband?"

Sansa chuckled quietly, fighting to keep from rolling her eyes. "Has it never occurred to you that perhaps I simply seek YOU as a husband, not because of what you may do for me but simply because I want YOU?"

He almost looked horror struck. "No," he answered.

"No what?"

"No, that has NEVER fucking occurred to me."

Sansa sighed and opened her mouth to explain, but she fell silent as he stood abruptly, his boots slamming against the floor. Two strides saw him braced on the arms of the chair, looming over her, as she automatically flinched backwards at the sudden movement. Slowly, she uncurled from the back of the chair and returned to her previous position, maintaining eye contact the whole time. His face was so close to hers and she wondered what he would do if she reached up and kissed him. His face was smug before it twisted around his words.

"See, Little Bird? How you flinch and wish you could fly away whenever you see me," he snarled. "How can you say you want a husband you are fucking terrified of?"

'Of course,' she thought with annoyance. 'He thinks I am a silly little girl, afraid of burned skin and his growls.'

Leaning closer, Sansa cupped his face in her hands and kept his eye, even as he stilled. She wasn't entirely sure he was breathing.

"The girl who left Winterfell was frightened of you. Of your face, your mannerisms, your cynicism." She shook her head slowly, her eyes stinging slightly. "I am no longer innocent to the truth that monsters so very rarely look like such. I don't see a monster when I look at you, nor a dog. I see a battle wound, one that you survived. Scars are only that and nothing more."

He shook her hands off and took a step back. "You can keep your bloody pity, Sansa. Save it for someone who wants it."

Sansa stared at her hands, tears finally falling silently and softly caressing her cheeks. "Oh, Sandor," she said miserably. "When will you finally understand that it is similitude, not pity, that I feel when I look upon your scars?"

Wiping her eyes, she stood from the chair. Sandor leaned against the wall, a healthy distance from the fire, and watched her with his face inscrutable. 

"It's almost time for supper," she told him. "I need to go collect myself and freshen up. Tonight, after we eat, I will be praying in the godswood till late in the evening. Either come to me there and I will answer any question you ask of me, or seek Bran's company instead and end the marriage contract. The choice, in the end, is entirely yours."

She dropped into a very small curtsy, then without so much as a glance back, Sansa swept from the room and hurried back to her own. It was only then, that she collapsed on her bed and sobbed into her pillow like a child, praying that the only person she still wanted for herself wouldn't send her away.

\--- 

As Sansa dressed for dinner, she considered her options carefully. If Sandor came to her in the godswood, she had agreed to tell him anything and everything he asked. But was she ready to truly do that? Some of her secrets were locked up tight, known only to those who it was unavoidable would learn it. Her maids, for instance, would have been impossible to hide certain things from. But otherwise, they were her best kept secrets and the source of her greatest pain. If he chose to marry her, though, it certainly wouldn't be a secret much longer.

Moving decisively, Sansa pulled out a dress she had received as a gift from The Dragon Queen. She had never worn it and she had never intended to. By northern standards, it could even be considered risque. But Dani was not a Northern woman and for Sansa's nameday, a stunningly well crafted gown had been delivered. The front appeared to be everything a typical gown would be, although the embroidery and material were finer than what she usually wore. The gown itself was the color gray, matching the Stark house colors and the sleeves reached to her knuckles of each hand. The back, however, plunged into a 'v,' exposing the entirety of Sansa's upper back and a small part of the small of her back. One couldn't even wear a shift with it, because of the depth the material dipped to. 

As her chamber maid, Hema, anxiously helped her dress, Hema took a breath before asking if she was quite sure that she wanted to wear this. Sansa assured the young lady, and couldn't help but feel amused when she asked for her lightest furs to wear over the dress, essentially hiding her back, and Hema looked like she might melt from relief.

Her hair she plated into a simple but attractive braid, pinning it upon her head with pins incrusted with jewels. The hair pins had been her mother's and Sansa absolutely adored them.

At dinner, Sansa and Sandor were seated beside one another and while neither spoke, Sansa could feel his gaze upon her, watching her from the corner of his eye, the vast majority of the meal. She excused herself early when her nerves got the better of her, feeling far too fidgety to eat. She quickly retreated to her room to don much heavier furs before making her way to the godswood. She was not sure whether she thought it likely Sandor would meet her there instead of seeing Bran, but she definitely did not expect him to arrive before she did. So she could not help the wide smile that broke across her face when she saw him waiting for her at the entrance. She saw the corner of his mouth on his unburned cheek twitch up slightly before he turned and walked further into the sacred space, hiding his face for her sight.

When they reached the weirwood tree that formed the heart, Sansa settled at the roots, letting her skirts and cloak pool around her. Sandor leaned against the tree, looking down at her.

"Gods, I have been...so afraid I wouldn't see you tonight. It felt like losing you all over again," she told him, watching the snow fall and settle around them.

Sandor scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. "I'm still waiting to understand why I'm here."

"I really had hoped that'd be obvious, but...I told you I would answer any question you asked tonight," she reminded him. "I meant it." 

His tone was teasing, but Sansa could tell there was a warning to it as well when he said, "Aye. And you do remember how I feel about liars, Little Bird?"

She laughed at that. "Oh, yes. I believe it was that you had a..." she paused, seemingly searching for the right word, "strong dislike for-"

"I fucking hate them."

Sansa laughed again, the sound ringing out loud and clear in the godswood. "Yes. That was the jist of it. Also, that I am a terrible one."

"That too," he agreed with a smirk.

"So Lord Clegane, any questions then?" she said challengingly.

"Yes, for fuck's sake, why do you keep doing this 'lord' business?" he grumbled.

"Because you've teased me mercilessly and I am now in a position to return the favor, my Lord," she quipped.

Sandor let out a bark of a laugh and glanced down at her. "That you are, Little Bird."

She blushed and cleared her throat, not meeting his eye.

"Why did you write to the queen to ask aide for your marriage? It seems a lot of trouble."

"Well, I wasn't entirely sure where to reach you, but there was also the matter of lordship." Sansa shrugged. "For better or worse, if I wish to stay in my family's good graces I need to marry a Lord and I wasn't sure if you would consider it at all. It also gave you an opportunity to decline without really declining ME personally, and I suppose I wanted that buffer to protect my heart a little bit."

Sandor frowned. "Fine, but that begs two questions. Why not simply accept one of the nice offers that were pouring in? Surely there is someone in there you could stand. And how in the hell could you honestly think I might not want you?"

Blushing, Sansa brushed invisible dirt off her skirt. "To answer the latter first, you have never expressed any interest in marriage or even long term mistresses, as far as I can tell. I know you never thought particularly highly of me and although you seemed to tolerate me, I wasn't sure if there was affection there. I'd hoped but..."

She huffed. "Well, you told me I chirped! What man wants a wife who chirps instead of speaks?"

Sandor's laugh was rich and loud and Sansa blushed even deeper. "Seven Hells girl, lots of men prefer the chirping and the singing. And I haven't expressed interest because I never had any. What use did I have for marriage?"

"But you came here and accepted..." she said tentatively.

He spoke before he really considered his words. "I don't give two shits about marriage, but I do about you."

Sansa swallowed thickly but left that thought to be examined later. "As-...As to why I accepted no other proposal, it's simple. They weren't you."

He growled in reply, but his voice was still soft when he responded. "Sansa, don't tell me you've fancied yourself in love with me, or made me into a white knight, or some horseshit. I am as good with a sword as any man I've seen, but I am an angry fucker with half a face. Not really the top choice for a husband amongst high born ladies."

She thought carefully about her next words, and when she finally spoke, she did so clearly and with authority.

"I thought I loved you, very soon after I refused you at Blackwater. I prayed you'd come back, I missed you all the time. Without you, there was no one with a kind word or any sort of protection that didn't come with a price. You said you weren't a good man, but you were the man I needed and I had just been too dumb to realize it."

"Now though," she continued, "I know that I was too young and naive to really understand what being in love meant. I only accepted bits and pieces, and willfully ignored what parts of you I found threatened this picture of you I had in my mind."

She chewed on her lip, looking up at him thoughtfully. "Once I was safe here again, for the first time in a long time, I had much more than just my thoughts about you that I needed to sort through in my head. There was...so much that happened. But when I began to think of you again, it was not with the innocence of a child, nor the willful ignorance of a captive."

She unfolded her legs and stood, taking a step towards him. His eyes bore into her as he watched her move closer. "You always told me the truth, what I needed to hear, whether I despised you for it or not. You weren't a white knight, riding in and demanding all abuse and disuse cease at once. But now I know that would have been entirely for naught, it simply would have resulted in your death and fulfilled a child's vision of morality. Every time you helped me, you risked your life, and you did it in such a way that if you were careful, you may be around to keep protecting me the next day as well."

Her hand smoothed across his chest, right above his heart and she heard him suck in a breath. "You didn't have to come for me at Blackwater. The world was on fire, and you had turned craven. You could have simply left. But you didn't, and I know that your intentions were not entirely pure, but you could get the same at a brothel not burning up around you if you were so inclined. You came for me. I was a stupid girl and still believed stupid things and I didn't go with you."

"You have-" she cut off, swallowing down some of the emotion burning in her chest before continuing, "you have no idea how many nights I cried for that decision, begging the gods to turn back time so I could fix it."

Her eyes locked onto his and she leaned into him, pressing her small body to his big one and placing her other hand on his cheek. "Sandor, you may not be a good man, but you have always been good to me. I feel safe with so few these days, but with you..."

Sansa's finger traced the sharp cheekbone of his unburned cheek as she unconsciously rose slightly onto her toes, moving their faces closer. "I won't tell you I'm in love with you, because I need to learn you as a woman grown. But I do care deeply for you and I truly believe that no matter how many times you tell me you are a bad choice for a husband, you are the only one who I might find happiness with. I think I could be good for you, to you, if you'd let me."

Sandor's gaze was fixated on her lips, his entire body tensed beneath her fingers. His breath came out in quiet little pants. Thinking that if he rejected her, she'd like to at least feel him once more, Sansa leaned in and gently pressed her lips against his.


	3. One Kiss away from Killing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> River - Bishop Briggs  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJl0A2PsO-4

"I won't tell you I'm in love with you, because I need to learn you as a woman grown. But I do care deeply for you and I truly believe that no matter how many times you tell me you are a bad choice for a husband, you are the only one who I might find happiness with. I think I could be good for you, to you, if you'd let me." 

 

In all the years of his life, Sandor could not think of anyone aside from his baby sister who had done more than tolerate him. Yes, there were those who wanted him for one of his major skills: killing, protecting, or standing around looking ominous. It wasn't even like he had any real interest in companionship. Most people annoyed him or pissed him off, and no one was seeking him out for his charming company. Maybe when he was small, he'd had other ideas about who he wanted to be. But now, he was about as pleasant as a gut wound and there was no fucking reason to try to understand or be understood. 

'Until now, maybe,' he thought, absently. Seven hells, her lips were softer than spun wool. He got lost in that pinpoint of contact, the way she moved her lips across his. Fuck, she did even that gracefully, like this was a bloody dance. He hadn't realized he was largely just standing there without moving until she tentatively nibbled at his lower lip. That brought him swiftly back to the moment.

He growled into her mouth and in one swift movement, he backed her against the weirwood. Her breathy little sigh when her shoulders hit damn near undid him. He didn't wait for permission as he slipped between her lips, desperate to taste her in a way he'd thought about since the first time he'd seen her. She opened to him willingly (completely fucking willingly) and timidly, like a little mouse, touched her tongue to his. 

Sandor did not have a wealth of knowledge on kissing, whores didn't do that and even if they did, he had no interest. But kissing his little bird, that was something entirely different. She tasted sweet and forbidden and like something exquisitely expensive that he had never thought to even try to barter for. 

His neck was cramping, even though Sansa was on the taller side when it came to women, so he put his hands under her arms like she was a child and lifted, earning him a little squeal that went straight to his groin. Out of instinct or an innate urge to torture him, he couldn't say, but when her legs wrapped around his hips to help hold her up, he broke the kiss to pant into her shoulder.

"Gods, girl," he grunted, rutting into her core that was now placed perfectly over his painfully hardened cock. "Do you think a man's self-control is endless?" 

He winced at her breathy, completely unintentionally sexy giggle. "Who said I want you to have control?"

Sandor grit his teeth and smacked a hand on the tree, causing her to startle and unintentionally rub herself up his length again. By the old gods and the new, he didn't know whether to storm away or beg her to tease him for the rest of his days. "Best not say things like that, little bird," he warned. "I'm only made of flesh, not steel, and you still owe me a pretty little song, and I don't mean the Gentle Mother. Do you really want to sing for me now, before you get that bloody wedding you've been tittering about?"

'For fuck's sake, just take her against the damn tree,' he thought to himself helplessly. The first time she smiled at him and chirped, he had become a damn fool, and this is what it got him. 'She didn't really mean it,' he reasoned with himself, even as he hated the part of him that cared whether she did or not. 

Sansa started crying quietly and he startled so badly he damn near dropped her. He doesn't fuck her in the godswood like a bloody animal, and that gets him tears? This was the problem with women, they never made a lick of sense. He knew he was not equipped to do anything about...this, so he just stood there like he'd been struck dumb and hoped whatever this was passed quickly.

She lifted his head from her shoulder, cupping his cheeks and smiling through her tears. What in the seven hells was going on?

"Does that-" she hiccuped, her face flushing more by the minute. "Does that mean you've decided? To be my husband?"

Sandor barked out a laugh and shook his head. Maybe someday that would sound less ridiculous, him being a husband, but today it sounded like a fucking jape. 

"Aye, Little Bird. That's what it means."

\---

It was with godly self-control and overwhelming ambivalence that Sandor walked Sansa back towards the Stark home. He kept reminding himself that this was what one did with a wife, that she wasn't some common woman in a brothel and he wanted to do this right and not fuck it up, but she'd been practically begging him for it and gods help him, he wasn't sure if he'd survive much more of this.

As they approached the front stairs, the wolf girl paced at the bottom, tossing her dagger into the air and catching it before doing it again. It was obvious to Sandor that she was agitated, something making her ready to pounce, and he felt her unease sink into him a bit when she met his eye with an expression he couldn't quite sort out. Sansa, however, seemed oblivious. 

"Arya," she called with a fond smile. "It's freezing and it's late. Come now, go inside before you turn into an icicle."

The wolf raised one eyebrow. "I do as I wish, Sansa. I'm here to meet you anyhow."

Sansa released his arm and took a step towards her sister. "Is something wrong?" she asked, worry apparent in her tone.

Arya did not answer her question, but gave a half shrug. "Jon's here."

Sansa's eyes got wide and she turned back to Sandor with an excited grin. He knew she was about to utter some sort of apology and force herself to walk slowly and gracefully, so he cut her off with a hoarse laugh. "Don't give a fuck for the courtesies, little bird. Off with you." Sandor watched with no small amount of amusement as the highborn Lady Stark lifted her skirts like a little child who knew no better and positively flew up the stairs. Sandor waited until the door closed behind her before he looked at Arya.

Arya stepped forward and placed her arm in Sandor's, causing him to freeze in surprise. He had to keep himself from drawing his sword on instinct. Then he noticed she was pulling him towards the house and speaking so low he could barely hear her, and realized she didn't want anyone else to hear. He supposed even Arya Stark on a man's arm was less suspicious than whispering in shadows.

"Jon's been north of the Wall where no news could reach him until a month ago," Arya whispered. "Now he's here, the King of the North trying to keep everyone alive, and he didn't come alone. He's got Ramus Bolton with him, recently legitimized son of Roose. Supposedly, the Dreadfort's been insane, lots of drunk and angry pricks with no Bolton in sight to lead. The new queen is trying to get Westeros under control as quickly and easily as possible, so finding the bastard was a stroke of luck for her."

Arya pulled him towards the dining hall, where a group of men stood, laughing and talking amongst themselves. "Bolton men are loyal and as nasty as the family they serve. They won't follow just anyone. When Jon came home, Ramus awaited him at the wall. That's him, with his cutthroats. They aren't loyal to the house, mercenary types, and I have no idea where he got the money, but apparently, he pays well."

Sandor spared them a glance, but kept his eyes forward so as not to attract attention. Of course, his hulking form and half a face got him plenty all the same, but he'd at least fucking try. "When did you become such a little spy, wolf girl?"

Arya snickered. "No one pays attention to a little lady. Did you know I sometimes wear dresses now? Put on a dress and you may as well be invisible unless you have your tits out."

Sandor tried not to snort too loud, but fuck, she was right. Then he thought about what she had told him so far and grimaced. "So they want to make you an honest wife so they can get the Dreadfort's bodies and weapons," he stated. It wasn't a question, the best way to get allies was by shuffling around the highborn women and tying them to all the noble cunts available.

Arya pulled him around a corner before releasing his arm and lifting up a tapestry. Under it, she pushed along the wall until it opened up into a corridor that would be barely wide enough for him to step into. "Why the fuck would I go in there?" he frowned.

Sandor expected a sharp reply and he knew something was deathly wrong when she turned to him with pity instead. "Because Jon didn't make the match for me. I think Jon made it for Sansa and I suspect he and Bran are currently telling her all about the advantages and necessity for this to move forward."

His eyes flashed dangerously and he felt his first tighten on his sword pommel.

"No fucking way."

She pointed to the corridor behind her. "No one told him you were here to marry her, but now that he's here, I suspect he'll still want it."

Arya shuddered and took a step into the little passageway. "And I agree, no bloody way is she going back to that hell. This is the escape path, it's riddled with little holes in unnoticeable places. Evidently, I wasn't the first Stark with a need to spy on things around Winterfell. We'll be able to hear them in here."

Sandor took a deep breath, resisting the urge to go to the room they were in, break down the fucking door, and kill everyone. Then he would steal her away. He was not letting them marry her off to some Bolton prick. She had bloody well convinced him and he wasn't going anywhere without her. She was willing, and she was his. But it would be better if she was not completely pissed off that he murdered her brother and cousin, so he followed Arya until they could see the room through the little holes and hear what was being said. Sandor had to sit on his knees and scrunch down. His legs immediately began to cramp and he felt his temper already threatening to break loose. Fucking Starks, they'd be the death of him. 

Bran was sitting between his cousin and sister, looking very much like he would like to be anywhere but here. Jon's face was red and he was groaning and shaking his head as Sansa ranted at him, shooting murderous looks at the both of them and generally flailing her arms, becoming less composed by the second. He'd find her flapping funny if they weren't trying to take away what was his.

"How dare you," she said so low it was almost a whisper. "How dare you think that you can shift me around like a pawn for your use. I am not marrying some stranger just to suit your needs and that's final." 

"Sansa, for god's sake, listen to me! We have a duty, roles we must fill. We need-" Jon's voice rang out, his irritation only barely showing, but Sansa cut him off, pointing a finger towards him as if she could wound him with it.

"I am DONE doing my duty. I married a Bolton, for my duty. I have given my body and soul, for my duty. No more, I've given enough." Her voice left no room for argument, but it seemed both men were determined to argue all the same.

"We've all given too much, Sansa," said Bran quietly. "But if we're to survive, we still must give more. We need this marriage."

"I am already betrothed!" she screeched at them, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Which I was unaware of!" replied Jon defensively. "And regardless, Clegane Keep's isn't even far enough North to be of help. The Dreadfort has a better location, more men, and is capable of surviving an exceedingly long siege. This alliance and their allegiance is substantial."

"Then you bloody marry him," Sansa said under her breath, and Sandor fought not to laugh out loud.

Bran spoke to her as if explaining something to a child. "Sansa, I know that you have strong feelings of loyalty to Lord Clegane. However, Ramus is by all accounts a decent man and he is a good match. Frankly, Bolton will be a better name for your children than-" 

"Bran, I will say this once only. Don't you dare to speak ill of Sandor Clegane in my presence. He is the reason I yet live and he is my future husband." Sansa spoke strongly and with absolute authority. 

Jon seemed to break at this, his composure snapping, smacking his hands on the table and yelling. 

"How can you be so incredibly selfish?!?" he accused with a grimace. "Do you not remember what happens when one marries for love and ignores duty?!? Was the Red Wedding not enough for our family? Did you forget that along with Robb and his love, hundreds of men died so he could FUCK who he wanted?!?"

The minute it was out of his mouth, it was clear he regretted it. That did not stop Sandor from yearning to smash through the wall and pound him into the ground when Sansa gasped and instinctively took a step back.

"Jon!" Bran yelled, snapping his head around to look at his cousin with rage and disbelief in his eyes. That outburst was completely out of character.

Jon's face twisted with regret as he raised a hand as if to pacify her, moving around the table to approach her. "Sansa, please, I am so very sorry. I...the whole of the north is on my shoulders and I'm just- it's no excuse. I didn't mean that, I didn't."

She raised one shaky hand and held it out, telling him to stop. Jon stilled, though it was obvious he wanted nothing more than the keep walking and try to fix this.

"I can not speak on this anymore tonight," she said quietly, taking steps towards the door. "I am retiring to my room. The door will be opened to no one. Good Night, Brother. Good Night, Cousin."

Jon turned to say something to Bran as soon as the door closed behind Sansa, but Sandor did not stick around to hear it. Arya was saying something behind him as he emerged from the corridor, but he didn't care to hear that either. The only thing he was completely sure of was that any doubts she did not want him had now been completely put to rest. And if Sansa Stark wanted him, that is exactly what she would get, and he'd deliver hell onto anyone who tried to stop him. 

\---

It did not take him long to find his little bird. He stopped by her quarters, but he hadn't really expected her to be there, so it was no surprise they were empty. Sandor reasoned she would either be in the godswood or in his quarters. He found her in the latter.

When Sandor arrived in the guest solar, he saw Sansa standing in front of the fire with her back to the entrance. She was staring at the flames and the room was deathly quiet. After barring the door, he turned and admired the delicious slope of her neck, thinking of how to convince her. They needed to get out of Winterfell, that much was clear. If they planned to marry her to someone else, they'd send him off sooner rather than later and if he left without her, it'd be hell to get back in in order to get her later. Once they were married and the marriage had been consummated, there wouldn't be much to be done about it. Until the day he died, she'd be his and no one would be able to take her. Fuck, that sounded good. He'd take her to the cursed Clegane Keep's and she could be Lady Clegane and that'd be the end of it. Maybe his family lands wouldn't seem as much of a curse with the little bird there. She had obviously tamed a rabid mutt, much to his chagrin, surely the woman could make a home out of the building that had only seen blood and hatred. If anyone could, it'd be her.

She loved her family, he knew that much. And she loved the North. His little bird had always accepted what was expected of her and he knew that even though she wanted to be with him, she could very well be swayed by a sense of responsibility. It'd be much easier to get her out of Winterfell if she was willing. He would gag her and drag her the whole way if need be, but it would be a real pain in the ass. Fuck if he knew how to get past the barrier she would have when it came to "hurting" her family, though. He hadn't had family he didn't despise in so long it was hard to think how to address that without being a real prick, and he hesitated to be that with her seeing as how he was trying to CONVINCE her to leave with him, not piss her off.

Sansa turned to him with tear-streaked cheeks but determined eyes.

"How soon can you be ready to leave?" she asked.

Sandor seemed to swallow his tongue, because for several long seconds he couldn't get words out. Finally, he got over his surprise enough to grunt out, "2 or 3 hours to organize the men."

"That'll do," she said, nodding in a determined fashion. "Here, this is a fair sack of coin. I swiped it from Jon. Give this to the stable boy and he'll ready the horses in quiet. He's a good lad."

She held it out to hand it over to Sandor but he just stared at it. "You...nicked a bag of coin. You, Sansa Stark, nicked a bag of coin."

"Aye," she replied, holding up the gold again and raising her eyebrows. When he could finally make his body recover and work, he reached for it and tucked it in his tunic. He didn't mind paying himself, but Jon was trying to keep him from Sansa and he wasn't going to get to run him through, so this was something at least. 

Sansa stood in front of him, staring into his face and the trust and affection he saw there threatened to bring him to his knees. Fuck, that was going to take some getting used to. "Meet at the stables in 3 hours then?"

Sandor nodded and Sansa reached up, gently kissing him before she left the room and presumably went to ready herself to leave her childhood home.

Before dawn the next day, after they had ridden on Stranger for long hours, Sandor asked her if she felt guilty for the choice she made and her 'duty' to the North. Her sleepy little voice made him chuckle when his perfect lady mumbled words she would never, ever say if she was awake.

"Fuck Duty"


	4. In black that's makin' you run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Stone Cherry - Love Runs Out (cover)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Bw-eJCPVzQ&list=PLYgM0VxRrYA3o9EwnzQD2q5a4TKhXzrTV&index=55

Sandor had told her they were going to get a head start, so it was no surprise when she woke slowly, realizing she was slumped against his chest and must have slept there through the night. It was unlikely that Jon or Bran would follow her. After all, she left a letter, though it was short and only so they would know that she wasn't harmed. Whether they liked it or not, Brann had already given his blessing to the Queen herself, so there was little they could do. They were not going to be at her wedding, and as far as she was concerned, they made their bed and they could just lie in it. Arya, though, would be truly and deeply missed. Still, Sansa had sought her out, told her what she was doing before finding Sandor in the stables. In all honesty, Arya was nothing but hugs and gleeful laughter that for once it was Sansa 'misbehaving.' After things had calmed down, she hoped her sister would come to visit. When they came home to Winterfell, reuniting with what was left of their family, they had much more in common than they had when they left so many years ago.

Refusing to open her eyes for just a bit longer, Sansa dozed in and out of sleep, her mind wandering to all that had happened since she sent that hopeful letter to Dany. She found herself in a strange position now, but nothing ever worked out perfectly, she knew. All things considered, perhaps things in her life truly were looking brighter. 

Regardless of the circumstance, Sandor's big body was wrapped around her and she had never truly thought she would feel this safe ever again. It seemed safety was only something she ever truly felt with him. Even Jon, for all that he was a good and honorable man, still believed that he could simply do the right thing, the honorable thing, and all would eventually be as it should. A good man in a sea of snakes was still a comfort to her, he really was. He and Bran were both good and kind-hearted, recent behavior notwithstanding. But their promises were not enough, not for someone who had been at the mercy of so many who didn't play the same rules honorable men abide. She had told Jon, "No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone."

But that was when she believed Sandor to be dead.

He was the exception to the rule. Even when Sandor had not been physically with her, his voice in her head had kept her breathing. All of the wise and good advice her father and mother had provided had amounted to very little in the face of Joffrey, of Ramsay, of Baelish. But the things Sandor had told her; those were lessons she had needed. She wanted to give him everything she could, a life that she wanted him to have, whether he or anyone else thought he deserved it or not. She knew he had done awful things, he never denied that. She didn't fool herself into thinking that deep down he had a heart of gold and was simply a lost soul, not at all. Everyone was a product of their experiences, but the influence of past events did not change that all held responsibility for their decisions. Developing a fondness for killing as a way survive a life where killing was necessary did not alter the fact that now he was a man who claimed to revel in that brutality. But things were not simple, not for people who lived in a world where not everyone was bound by honor. So she judged Sandor not on who he was, but who he was TO HER. For better or worse, she accepted him as he was and she knew, given time, he'd do the same for her.

His gruffness complimented her softness, but she was also no longer the scared, shy child he had once known. She was strong, in ways only those who had been broken and forced to reform themselves could ever be. Her confidence was not lacking, and she knew that these years had made her his match and his equal. He was finding that out rather quickly, she thought, and every time he looked at her with surprise at her boldness or her decisiveness, it made her proud to have drawn that reaction from him.

She also felt the sting of betrayal, slicing through her joy like a bloody reminder of a past she'd just as soon forget. It was dulled with the comfort of Sandor's arms, but it still hurt. How could they ask her to go back to the Dreadfort? That fortress was the deepest depths of hell, as far as she was concerned. While most of her time with the Boltons had been spent in Winterfell, a one month's 'corrective' trip to the Dreadfort had been more than enough. Ramsay was vicious on his best of days, but her time there had seen a madness magnified beyond anything she had seen before and had left her with the worst of her scars. She'd rather spend a thousand years in King's Landing before she spent another afternoon in the Bolton home. They didn't know, exactly, what had happened. But they knew enough! It had to be obvious, for neither Brann nor Jon were dull men. She had inexplicitly described her life there and Ramsay had said some truly disgusting things to Jon. It would have been hard to mistake his meaning. Ramus Bolton may well be a decent man, but his family and his home were a legacy she would never, ever be a part of again.

Feeling a droplet of cold fall on her cheek, then another, Sansa opened her eyes just as an onslaught of rain came pouring onto them. Sandor cursed behind her and she leaned forward, giggling softly and looking around to see where they had gotten to. They were in the woods, off the beaten path of things. They were following the edge of a large mountain, hugging it to their left side. Aside from the mare beside Stranger tethered to his saddle by a length of rope, they were alone. Sansa's brow knit in confusion.

"Where are the men?" she asked Sandor, glancing up at him over her shoulder.

Sandor didn't look at her, he was scanning along the rock face before he grunted and smiled, bringing Stranger to a trot as they approached what Sansa could see now was a cave. As they slowed in front of the narrow opening, Sansa huffed before repeating herself.

"Sandor, I asked, where are the men?"

His chuckle reverberated through her back. "Bloody hell, little bird," he said, dismounting. "Can we at least get out of this downpour, or do I have to sit here still as stone in the fucking rain so I can answer all your questions?

"It was only one question," she told him in a haughty voice, sliding down Stranger to land on the ground with a soft thud. "And a rather pertinent one at that. Forgive me, my Lord, I simply forgot I was to sit quietly and withhold all questions until such a time you allowed me to ask them."

Sandor sighed heavily, pointing to the entryway. "Just get in the bloody cave, Sansa."

She smiled sweetly. "Of course, my Lord. Right away."

She turned on her heel and gracefully floated into their makeshift shelter, leaving Sandor to growl behind her. He disappeared for a short time, but he returned soon carrying wood and only slightly damp kindling.

"We were lucky that some of these trees have canopies so thick," he grumbled, building a triangle in which to start their fire. "Otherwise, no dry wood and we'd both be sick and froze by the time the rain let up."

Yes, Sansa had become keenly aware of just how cold she was after about 10 minutes in their little cave. Now, she shivered and her teeth chattered loudly. She sighed happily, even if her teeth continued to clack, when a few more minutes passed and Sandor had built enough of a fire to warm the relatively small space of the cave. The trapped flames made the area a bit smoky, but it seemed most of the smoke was able to escape through the narrow entrance and most of the heat seemed content to stay trapped in the hideout with them.

"King's Road," Sandor grunted, reaching around to unbuckle his armor. Sansa chuckled and stood, coming to help him undo the buckles and clasps that held the mail and steel to his body. 

"That's where the men are then?"

"I can do that myself, you know," Sandor said, ignoring the question and grumbling at her when she batt his hand away.

"Aye, but have you any idea how ridiculous you look trying to get the ones on your back?" She shook her head and grinned. "You've always looked silly, but everyone has always been too afraid to tell you, what with all that bellowing you do to them."

Sandor opened his mouth to retort, but when she stepped in front of him to undo those buckles as well, he cut off whatever he was going to say and frowned. "You're cold."

"Yes," she agreed, not taking her eyes off her work.

"You need to get those clothes off, and get warm ones out of the saddle bag before you catch sick," he told her, pushing her hands away and taking care of the remaining few buckles himself. "There are furs and a few dresses in there."

Sansa smiled. "Ah, and I suppose you'll be going outside then, like a proper gentleman?"

Sandor snorted. "I believe it was you who told me it was a bit too late to worry about your honor, Little Bird." He dropped his armor to the ground and reached up to pull off his tunic. 

'This is so easy, being with him,' she thought happily. 'Just as it should be between a husband and wife.'

"Ser, this is hardly proper!" she told him imperiously, one haughty eyebrow raised as she crossed her arms. Sandor said nothing and simply stared at her, watching as the corner of her lip twitched and she finally exploded in the giggles she'd been trying to suppress. Sandor let out a chuckle as well and went over to the saddlebags.

"You should at least turn your back when I'm down to my small clothes," she teased whilst untying the furs and cloaks and turning to lay them out to dry. "At least hold to a small bit of propri- propriety..."

Sansa's words trailed off as she turned to him and saw all mirth gone from his face. His jaw was clenched tightly, the unburnt side of his face ticking as he ground his teeth over and over. He had a bedroll in one hand and a simple gray dress she had brought with her in his other. Both items were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He wasn't looking at her eyes anymore, his eyes fixed on a spot that seemed directly above her belly button. She looked down, but there was nothing on her dress. Looking at him again, she realized he was looking less at her and more through her than anything else.

Sansa took a small step forward, starting to get a little worried for him. "Sandor? What's wrong, what's happened?"

When his eyes moved to hers, they looked half dead. She gasped quietly, her worry only increasing.

"Bolton," he spat simply, agonizingly, as if the word physically pained him utter. And then she realized what her haste and elation had made her forget: She was still wearing that damn, low back dress. 

Sansa swallowed hard. "I had...I had meant to speak with you about this in a more, ah, comfortable fashion, for lack of a better word..."

"Little Bird," he said shaking his head as quiet fury rolled off him. "Still bloody chirping. What, Sansa, you were going to sit me down to tea and explain that he fucking carved his name into your back?!? Did you think that would take the edge off, if there was cake while you told me that bastard cut into your perfect, fucking flawless skin?!?"

Sansa could feel her heart breaking. She had expected Sandor to understand somewhat, that this disformity was not a choice she had. But, then again, she supposed non-descript scars were probably easier to handle than a name forever imprinted on the woman that was to be his.

"I understand," she said slowly, "that it must be difficult for you to see your future wife with another man's name on her body. Especially that of her ex-husband."

He looked as if she had smacked him across the face and she had to fight hard not to cry. "I had thought that you, at least, would have some understanding of being marked forever by something done to you, but I..." she stuttered, trying to keep her voice steady. "But I know this is not the same kind of scar. I have...seen about getting rid of it somehow but aside from a burn...I just feel like that would hurt so very much."

It was hard to believe that he was having this reaction, she had thought such a thing to be of little import to Sandor, and this was just not something she could...

"You think I care what that cunt carved into your skin?" Sandor shook his head in disbelief. "Fuck, girl, I care that he did the carving, not what the bloody design was!"

Sandor looked wound so tight that if he did not soon release some of his pent-up anger, he may very well combust. Sansa felt light-headed more than anything, but when her legs shook in warning, Sandor strode quickly towards her and caught her by the waist. He backed up until he could sit resting with his spine against the wall, Sansa cradled in his lap. 

"You would have fucking screamed," he said quietly, face scrunching up in pure rage, almost as if she wasn't there at all. "Those cuts, how deep...gods, but you would have screamed. How did no one hear it?"

"No one stopped him," she whispered. "I did scream, so much, but no one came. I passed out at some point, but he waited until I woke up to continue."

Turning her face into his chest, she snuggled into the safety of his embrace. "It's not the only scar."

Sandor growled but said nothing. Now that Sansa realized he wasn't mad at her, disgusted by her, well...it changed things. Perhaps more than it should. She'd never get Ramsay off her skin, not completely. He'd seen to that. But it did not make Sandor want her less, nor did he appear to think her weak.

"I should of fucking made you go with me, after Blackwater," he said through clenched teeth, letting his head fall back to the wall. "I knew you wouldn't be safe there, I fucking knew it. I should have just taken you with me whether you liked it or not."

"Absolutely not!" Sansa spat loudly, turning in his lap to glare up at him. She felt him jump in surprise at her loud protest and his eyebrow raised to her hairline when she fully seated herself facing him, straddling her legs over his own.

"Sandor, you are the only man, THE ONLY MAN, who ever gave me a choice," she told him firmly. "My father, my brothers, they would marry me to who they saw fit. Surely they would seek my happiness, but my consent in the matter would be entirely inconsequential. Joffrey never asked me. Bailish never asked me. Ramsay never asked me."

Sansa poked him hard in the chest. "Only you, you alone, let me decide how to handle my life. I chose poorly, it's true, but don't you see Sandor? I CHOSE."

Sandor still had not spoken, but he was looking at her with something she may dare even name affection.

"I believe completely that while we are not the things others have done to us, we are who we are because of how we behave and change afterward," she told him. "I could never accept that the gods set me to these trials on purpose, but I do believe I am this woman, here with you, because of them." 

Her eyes trailed down to his lips, her outrage turning into a different kind of passion so suddenly it made her dizzy.

"And Sandor, I like who I am, and even more, I like who we are together."


	5. Knock me off of my feet all week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touch - Matt Johnson (Little Mix Cover)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kluErgKNxGU
> 
> Smut and Fluff, after such a heavy chapter last time. ;)

Sandor scrubbed his hand down his face, leaning against the wall of their cave and trying to get some sleep while the rain was still making travel unappealing. He had been up all night, riding with the Little Bird from Winterfell. Her sleeping in his arms was certainly a conciliation for his fatigue, but he had still been up all night after spending only one day resting in Winterfell. Frankly, it was unwise to travel again so soon, for the men and the horses, but their options had been limited. 

But once the rainstorm overtook them, when he just wanted to get out of his wet armor and clothes before passing out on a bedroll for a few blissful hours, she had to go and start taking her clothes off. He was, actually, going to leave when she stripped down, mainly because the sound of her screaming at him incredulously would have made his already substantial headache a million times worse. But then she got all flirty about it, which was still a bit of a sucker punch all things considered, and he'd thought he'd stick around after all.

He really wished he had just gone outside. 

First, there was the rage that someone had hurt her, again, even after she managed to escape from Joffrey. And thought to maim her, even worse. But claim her? Fuck that. It was the same reason he'd never forced a woman in his life. Firstly, he'd never actually wanted to claim a woman at all, until Sansa. He didn't want to put in the time or effort to make a woman want to be his, and what he did want didn't require any sort of naming as such. He wanted to cum inside wet heat, they wanted the coin, done and done. Everyone gets what they came for. Although Sansa would likely be horrified at his thought process, he rather thought of wanting her similar to how one approached finding a pet or a steed. You worked with them, learned them. To say they were yours just because you bought them, or married them, did not make it so. They were only yours, truly, once they wanted to be. That was the only way to get mutual respect, loyalty. Was Bolton really slow enough to think his name carved cruelly into her skin would elicit the same?

'Apparently so,' he thought with a shrug, trying and mostly succeeding to swallow down his anger. It's a waste of time to hate the dead.

But then she got all emotional and serious and Sandor knew that his face probably betrayed that he thought she was the best thing to ever grace this world (because recently his face has been traitorous for an entirely new reason than he was used to), but it still wore him the fuck out. She was all fire and sternness and saying things, just like she always was recently, that completely turned his world on its arse: sweet little words that were beginning to sound less like chirping and more like unshakeable truths. She believed what she said so deeply, that Sandor was finding that belief contagious. Even if it was only because her word would give him everything he wanted and had never hoped to have, even if that made him stupid and naive, he wanted to believe them.

So now Sansa had said her peace and was napping happily by the fire whilst Sandor had not slept in over 24 hours and yet was still unable to rest. She just kept saying all these wonderful things, suspicious things, DANGEROUS things, and he wasn't sure how to keep his brain from trying desperately to process it before she woke up and gave him even more mind-blowing statements to sort through.

He heaved an exhausted sigh and closed his eyes for the 50th time, willing blankness to overtake him.

\---

He must have eventually dozed off because when he woke next, the rain had slowed to a drizzle and he had a crick in his neck from not moving for too long a time. 

Standing up slowly, Sandor stretched his arms above his head, grunting at the pull on the muscles that lined his stomach. Glancing to Sansa's bedroll by the fire, he found the spot empty and immediately looked around sharply, as if she was lurking in one of the corners. With a sense of unease, he picked up his sword and took a few steps towards the front of the cave.

"Sansa?" he called with a voice still hoarse from sleep. He tilted his head to the side like a dog (fittingly) and paused to listen.

"Out here!" came her pretty little chirp from outside the cave. He stepped through the entrance and stopped, peering around him, but he didn't spot her anywhere. 

"Sansa, where are-?!?!" he started, only to be cut off by a face full of wet leaves. He sputtered, inhaling one before coughing and reaching up to try quickly to remove one particularly stubborn leaf from his tongue. His sounds of disgust were broken by a high, gleeful giggle. Turning back, he was met with the sight of the Lady Stark perched on a little outcrop on top of their temporary lodgings, bent over on herself in a fit of mirth. Sandor stopped gaping and scowled at her, but that only made her laugh harder.

Changing tactics, he grinned at her wickedly. "Oh, little bird. You best fly fast because if I catch you..." He trailed off before lunging for her.

With a squeal, Sansa scrambled backward across the large protrusion she sat on and out of his reach. Sandor grabbed the stone and was pulling himself up when she went flying over his head. It took him too long to shake out of his surprise for him to catch her before she gracefully hit the ground, rolling with the fall and springing back to her feet. 

'Too much time with the Wolf Girl,' he mused. He dropped down in front of her and stalked towards her, smirking and shaking his head back and forth in warning. With a shrill laugh, she was off in the opposite direction at a full out sprint and instinctively he took off after her.

Sansa weaved through the trees, using their bulk against him. He was faster by far in a straight line, but with her smaller body she pivoted faster, changing directions so often that he was almost always stumbling a few steps before he could turn with her. He laughed loudly, impressed with her tactics and enjoying this impromptu chase game more than a little. He thought about letting her 'win,' but while he knew he could get them back to their camp, he wasn't certain she'd find her way should they get separated. Sandor knew he needed to finish it soon before they got hopelessly turned around.

It was rather quickly after that when Sansa darted to the right, clearly intent on springing across the creek bed that rested 50 or 60 feet to her side. Taking advantage of the few moments where she was moving sideways instead of forwards, Sandor pounced as soon as her feet left the ground, jumping to meet her mid-air, and caught her around the waist. They landed heavily on the other side of the creek bed, while he made sure to roll them and cradle her body in his arms so that he took the brunt of the fall. 

The little bird screeched and laughed wildly, squirming around on top of him in a futile attempt to escape. He growled at her, but his gruffness was entirely undercut when he found himself laughing with her, her melodious soprano mixing with the smoky bass of his chuckle. Never releasing her, he stood and threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing (which she might as well have, for how easy she was for him to carry.)

She snorted in protest and smacked his back, reprimanding him between laughs.

"You put me down this instant, Sandor Clegane!"

"Oh no, little bird. I won your game. Now we're going back to camp."

"Ser, this is highly improper," she said with as much dignity as one can muster whilst being hefted like a sack of grain. Before he thought about it too much, Sandor landed a hand on her backside with a smack. She gasped out in surprise and he chuckled.

"Not a Ser, Lady Stark," as if she didn't know that all too well.

She recovered quickly enough, smoothing both hands flat on his broad back. He was sure that her cheeks were burning and he couldn't seem to stop grinning.

"But, my dearest knight, what else should I call you?" she said in a tone that was nothing but a challenge.

Another slap to her bum had her letting out the sexiest, breathy little sigh he'd ever heard.

"You know I'm not a knight, girl. I think you just like it when I smack your arse." He smirked as she fidgeted on his shoulder.

They arrived back at the cave and Sandor set her on her feet, still grinning to himself before standing to his full height to look down at her with a smug grin. When she met his eyes with hers, however, his smugness vanished and he sucked in a quick breath. Her hair was tousled, with leaves stuck throughout it. Pink splashes decorated her cheekbones and her mouth was parted in a slightly out of breath pant. Her pupils were blown, chest heaving, and he had the very strange sensation that he had been wrong about who was predator and who was prey for a long time.

"And what, Lord Clegane, would you claim for your prize, as the victor of our game?" she asked breathlessly. Sandor's head filled quickly with a number of stimulating suggestions, none of which he was willing to mention considering their explicit nature and his complete inability to gauge how much propriety she still held to. 

"As the master of the game, Little Bird, I leave the choice to you," he told her. Her eyes darkened even more and she smiled wickedly.

"Oh, I like that very much," she said, running a hand down his chest. "Come inside, my victor. We shall both have a treat."

Sandor allowed himself to be led into the little respite and shoved up against the cave wall. "Stay," she said firmly, walking to the other side of the fire and gathering up her bedroll.

She dropped it at his feet and Sandor stood silently watching her as his breath got heavier and his cock began to strain his breaches. But now that she kneeled in front of him, all that confidence seemed to fly out and she blushed. Biting her lip, he noticed her hands shaking as she raised her fingers to the laces of his breeches. She was beautiful and adorable and heartbreaking all at the same time.

"Little Bird," he said gently, stilling her hand far easier than he would have ever guessed himself to be capable of. "You can give me any reward you like. I'd like a kiss from your sweet lips, girl, no need to force anything."

Her wide eyes shined up at him and her smile was blinding. The finest warrior in Westeros felt his knees threaten to buckle, and strangely, he found he didn't care. Just as long as she was the one making him weak, maybe a little weakness wouldn't be the worst thing.

"Sandor, I WANT to, I promise you," she reassured him, sliding her hands out of his to stroke his thighs. "I've just never done this...by choice, per say, and I'm worried I won't be very good at it." She flushed deeply and Sandor couldn't help but grin down at her. He reached for her face and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb.

"Little Bird, that pretty little mouth on my cock will be amazing," he told her truthfully. "Mind you don't bite me, but other than that, it's impossible for you to be bad at this."

Sansa smiled sweetly and averted her eyes, but she set to work unlacing his breeches with a steely look of determination. When she pushed his breeches down his thighs and released his cock from the confining material, he let out a small groan of relief. The next sound he made was a loud, deep moan as the little bird took him into her soft hand, gently stroking a few times. She smirked up at his reaction, before swallowing slightly nervously and biting her lip again.

"Please...please tell me if I am doing anything wrong or if I do something you really like, please?" She asked so sweetly, but all he could manage with her little fingers sliding over the length of him was a nod.

Tenderly she reached up to the top of his cock, pulling back the skin hiding away the head, before taking a solitary finger and rubbing the dampness gathered there across the whole tip. His eyes rolled back and he growled, neck straining when she licked around the sensitive slit.

Sansa took just the head into her mouth and sucked lightly, forcing him to throw his head back and curse. "Fuck, Little Bird," he rasped. "Fuck, that's good."

She smiled around his length and seemed to take that as her cue to take more of him in, sucking him back and letting her palms rub up and down the hair of his thighs. Her mouth was red and swollen, sliding up and down the length of him steadily and the sucking noises she was making were positively obscene. Her eyes burned brightly into him and he felt like everything was right with the world, everything was as it should be, and the only thing that would be better than this would be when she was feeling this incredibly good at the same time. If anything, this had made him more steadfast in his conviction that they wait to have each other fully until after the wedding. It would be so different, so much more with Sansa, that he might as well be a bloody virgin. They both had experiences, and few of their experiences would help them when it came to one another. They would wait.

Sansa took a deep breath before sliding him further into her mouth and when he hit the back of her throat he almost came on the spot.

"You're so good, little girl," he moaned, sliding his fingers through the tangled, leaf-strewn strands of her hair. "You're taking my cock so well."

Sansa closed her eyes and hummed appreciatively, causing Sandor to gasp and then chuckle, tangling his fingers in her hair even further. "You like that, Little Bird? You like to hear to hear how pleasing you are?"

She moaned again and nodded, as much as one can with a cock in one's throat anyway.

"Hmmm, well that's easy enough, because you are so very lovely, little bird. Your mouth is so perfect, so wet, so pretty." He gasped again when his cock head hit her throat again, making her choke lightly and spasm around him. He noticed her rocking her hips in time with her mouth and he grinned.

"If you want to make me really happy, little bird, go ahead and touch between your legs so you can feel good too." Her eyes went wide and he could tell she was hearing her Septa's voice for a moment warning her of unladylike behavior. Which was really quite amusing timing, considering she was on her knees pleasuring her betrothed. Enough of that, damn it. She certainly didn't need to be debating propriety in that pretty head of hers while his cock was in her mouth. "It's okay, little girl. I'd love it so much, I'd love it if you rubbed your nub for me. Will you do it for me?"

Her eyes darkened a shade and he held his breath as she put her hand under her skirt. He could tell the exact moment she touched herself because her eyes widened a fraction and a moan rumbled up through her chest. 

"Oh gods, Sansa," he grunted, "that's so amazing..."

It was getting harder and harder not to thrust into her mouth and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer, especially watching her touch herself for him, which he honestly thought he'd have no luck convincing her of. He tried to pull back, but she had her other arm wrapped around his left thigh and she was holding him so tightly, that with the wall at his back, there was nowhere to go.

"Little Bird, seven hells," he rasped, tugging lightly on her hair to get her to pay attention to him. "I'm getting close, girl. You need to let me go or -bloody fuck-...I'll spill in your pretty mouth." 

He was absolutely not expecting her to pause for the briefest of seconds, moan, and then pull him clear down her throat. Sansa swallowed and that was the end of him and he came so hard he swore he was going to blackout. She swallowed every bit he gave her, milking him with her throat until he was spent. Sandor had just managed to get his eyes open when hers slammed shut and she screamed around his cock, finding her own release. Panting, he gingerly pulled her off him and pulled his breeches up his hips, before slumping down to the stone floor. Sandor yanked her onto his lap and rubbed down the length of her back a few times while she purred contentedly.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his eyes already sliding shut and his breathing beginning to even out. The little bird hummed appreciatively and snuggled into his chest.


	6. Watch All the Torches Go Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! The chapter as I was working on it was lost, so I had to start from scratch.  
> ***Warning: This chapter depicts a trauma related nightmare as well as a flashback.***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without the Lights - Elliot Moss  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmnXGvXYpKg

Sansa sighed heavily as the giant of the man she was soon to marry threatened a red faced stable boy outside the inn. ‘Honestly, as if Stranger wasn’t terrifying enough,’ she thought.

 

They had finally arrived at Brook’s End, a relatively small establishment situated three days ride from Winterfell along the King’s Road. The new Clegane Guard had in fact made it in three, though the pair had yet to see them. For Sansa and Sandor traveling in the wilds, it had taken closer to five. The guard had been sent ahead to ensure no one from Winterfell would follow, although Sansa could have told them it was unlikely. They had no reason to pursue, really, and knowing Bran and Jon, they were likely feeling too guilt stricken to argue with her for a time.

 

She desperately needed a bath, and some food made in an actual kitchen would certainly not be remiss. However, none of that would be made available until the young boy currently in front of them was suitably terrified, if our Lord Clegane had anything to say about it. Sansa huffed in annoyance before swiftly stepping in front of Sandor.

 

“What is your name?” she asked with a tired smile, leaning down to his eye level.

 

The boy sniffled and glanced quickly behind her, before meeting her eyes. “Thomas, my lady.”

 

Sansa nodded. “A fine strong name,” she said reassuringly. “This is Stranger, and he is a fierce animal indeed. Take good care of him and treat him with the respect a war horse deserves. Are you good at taking care of horses?”

 

“Oh yes, my lady,” Thomas said with a hint of pride. “I take good care of ‘em.”

 

She smiled a bit wider and ruffled his hair. “Of course you do. And will you take special care with Stranger and my mare, at my request?”

 

He nodded emphatically. “I will, I will! I swear it!”

 

“Thank you, Thomas,” she said with one more gentle grin before standing up. “Go on and take care of the horses now.”

 

Thomas scuttled away and Sansa turned to face a furious, narrow eyed Sandor. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a small crowd of men who had not been there when she began speaking with the stable boy, but she ignored them in favor of meeting Sandor’s stare with an impassive one of her own.

 

He took a step forward, using his bulk to tower over her and look menacing and intimidating, out of habit she assumed. Unfortunately for him, that no longer worked on her, and she had to repress a smile at that.

 

“You want to explain yourself, Little Bird?” he growled with venom. “That’s my bloody horse there, Sansa. I rode into fucking Winterfell on him while you were still a child, busy making eyes at the little prince prick. I decide what to say to the little shits who have to take care of him, girl. YOU need to know when to stop the fucking chirping.”

 

Her eyes narrowed as her hands came to rest on her hips. “And YOU need to know when terrifying everyone to death is not necessary nor helpful to gain compliance,” she told him sharply, blue eyes meeting gray without flinching. “That little boy will respond with more loyalty and care to kindness than he ever would to fear.”

  
  


“I got by just fucking fine without you my whole bloody life, woman!” he snarled. “Stay out of shit that doesn’t have a god’s damned thing to do with you.”

 

“You listen to me, Lord Clegane,” she said in an even tone, poking him hard in the chest. “You may have gotten along just fine before without me, as you say. But now, you have me, and you will let me handle situations that I am more adept at than you. You won’t see me riding off to war with a pike, Sandor. I get to choose, too.”

 

Sandor laughed bitterly. “Says the high born lady to her soon to be lord and master. That’s the way of lordly husbands, aye? You have a say in the bloody embroidery, not in how I treat my horse and stable boys.”

 

Sansa felt her eyes widen in shock, before red hot rage brought down the hurt and her voice sharpened to a knifepoint.

 

“I thank you for the reminder of who we are to one another, my lord,” she told him coldly and calmly. “Please excuse me, I find that I am ill suited to travel and I must seek rest, before my delicate temperament forces me into a faint. These matters of men are far too taxing for my highborn femininity.”

 

Sandor’s scowl deepened slightly, but Sansa continued undeterred.

 

“I will let the innkeeper know to prepare two rooms, one for myself and one for you, my Lord,” she said with a falsely sweet smile. “Worry not, Lord Clegane. I will be sure to bar the door that NO ONE may enter. I know how you worry for my safety and virtue.”

 

Sansa turned on her heel and walked with her head held high to the front door, deftly ignoring the wide eyed and amused looks from the group of men standing beside it, who she now saw were wearing Clegane house colors.

 

Almost too far away, she almost missed a snort of laughter behind her. “Well done, mate,” the voice commented. “Things seem to be going wonderfully.”

 

“Fuck off, Bronn,” came Sandor’s growled answer.

 

\---

 

_ Everything was dark, but not in the way that denied a person all sight. No, this place was dark enough that shadows still moved in the corner of one’s vision, terrifying and indiscernible. At the same time, it was easy to make out the shape of knives, dark splotches of liquid staining the floor. There were places for souls to find themselves restrained, where spirits would be broken and life force would be spilled. _

 

_ ‘I’m next,’ Sansa thought to herself. If he could find anything else to take from her, this would be the place. She wasn’t tied down in one of the restraints, but her ankle was shackled to a loop of iron in a wall, presumably so she couldn’t reach anything that might aid her in defending herself. _

 

_ Ramsay at Winterfell was terrifying. Ramsay at the Dreadfort was a man the Stranger himself would fear. _

 

_ So when the guard stepped in to bring her a plate of food, she begged. Her face was tight with dried tears and snot, blood stained her filthy night dress, and she was not above it, not even a little. So she lay prostrate and broken on the floor, sobbing, and she begged with everything she had for something, anything, to end this in some way. _

 

_ Sansa couldn’t be sure, but she thought she could see uncertainty and pity waring in his eyes. But she’d never know, because at that moment Ramsay emerged from the hallway, smiling at her with excitement and malice. _

 

_ “Hello, my love.” _

 

_ Sansa screamed _ .

 

The sound of wood splintering caused Sansa to scramble from the bed and pull herself into the corner. Another scream ripped from her throat as the door flung open.

 

_ Ramsay strut into the dungeon, his hounds and his hunting party following at his heels. _

 

Men of the Clegane Guard burst into her room, quickly looking for the danger all around. One of them took a step towards her, arm outstretched to calm her.

 

_ One of them took a step forward, arm outstretched to strike her.  _

 

_ “Stop!” she screamed. “Stay back!” _

 

“Stop! she screamed. “Stay back!”

 

The guard stopped abruptly, eyes widening in concern. “My Lady?”

 

_ The man stopped to laugh, looking back to Ramsay. “Stark Bitch.” _

 

Bronn moved forward to pull the first back. “You need to get the Hound” he told the other man. “I don’t know what’s happening here.”

 

_ “Dumb cunt,” sighed Ramsay, pulling the man behind him. “You don’t even know what’s happening here, little wife.”  _

 

_ He walked towards her, gentle smile deceiving and voice soft. _

 

_ “Oh dear gentlemen,” he said with a tsk. “I fear she’s too distraught for a good hunt. Let’s give here a few days for that fighting spirit to return.” _

 

_ Helpless and so tired, Sansa swallowed down her pride and looked to her husband, her tormenter, and her personal hell. “Please. Please, I just want to go home.” _

 

“Please. Please, I just want to go home.” Sansa fisted her hands in her nightdress and cried.

 

“My lady,” Bronn asked softly. “Do you mean to Winterfell?”

 

_ Ramsay chuckled. “Do you mean to Winterfell?” _

 

“Sansa...”

 

_ He fisted her ragged clothing and pulled her close to his chest. _

 

“Sansa, look at me…”

 

_ One cruel finger ran along her cheekbone. _

 

Rough callouses ran along her jaw, tilting it upwards.

 

_ “You’ll never go home,” said Ramsay, grinning wickedly. _

 

“Little Bird,” came Sandor’s rough rasp, his scarred, beautiful, calming face swimming into her vision. His eyes were anguished and he looked so confused. “Come back to me.”

 

Sansa let out a loud sob and flung herself into his chest.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. I don't think little big girls should go walking in these spooky old woods alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amanda Seyfried - Little Red Riding Hood (Lyrics)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=963iCYoONF0

Sandor wrapped his arms around Sansa in return and let out the breath he'd been holding. She was sobbing into his shoulder as he rose to his feet, taking her weight easily. Her shift left little to the imagination, so Sandor pulled the fur from her bed and draped it along her figure before turning to the remaining guardsmen (Bronn and two other men). He barked at the men to gather her things and take them to Bronn's chamber, for the time being, exchanged a look of understanding with the closest thing he had to a friend, and swept Sansa from the room.

Two rooms. Two fucking rooms. He was still a dumb mutt, and he cursed himself for it.

He knew better than to let her dictate that she wouldn't sleep beside him, not for his sake, but hers. Sansa had nightmares, that much had been made clear during their time traveling. But they slept next to one another and although Sandor was fairly sure she didn't know it, they had a system. She would wake him with shivers and murmurs, years of combat readiness still making him a light sleeper. He would wrap his arm around her and squeeze. Sansa would inhale the smell of him, sighing softly, and settle down completely. It was easy and while he'd never admit it out loud, he felt a fierce sort of pride that he was able to pull her so easily from that dark place just by being present.

He held her weight with one hand tucked under her thighs as he brought them into his room and barred the door behind them. Sandor let the fur drop to the floor, walking to the small bed sat in the corner. He deliberated, the bed was really bloody small, but he finally settled on simply falling backward with her on his chest. Her tears had quieted but she was still shaking in his arms. Sandor grit his teeth and searched for something, anything, to say to her that might make it the slightest bit better. How do you protect a girl from her own head?

"I'm so embarrassed..." came a tiny little voice muffled against his chest.

He snorted and shook his head. "What the fuck are you embarrassed about, girl?"

She lifted her head to look at him incredulously, her nose reddened and voice still watery. "Our men, Sandor! They saw me positively wrecked. How on earth am I to face them tomorrow?" Sansa groaned and buried her face once more. "They'll never respect me now."

He couldn't help the rough laugh that spilled from him as she lamented her 'moment of weakness.' For fuck's sake, did she know who these men were?

"Sansa, I watched Rosby fall on top of and then vomit on Swann earlier, blind drunk, and then all the men took turns miming doing disgusting shit to him that almost made ME feel a bit ill. Swann was so drunk he fell asleep halfway through the whole thing with sick still on his tunic. Our men are bloody idiots, Little Bird."

She looked at him, positively alarmed, before she burst out in giggles. At first, Sandor grinned at seeming to distract her, but then the giggles turned a bit manic and he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't preferred the crying. He cleared his throat and she seemed to sober up a bit, before she looked around and realized where she was. Taking in her shift covered body pressed to his bare chest as she lay atop him with her legs straddling his hips, she blushed and bit her lip. Fucking adorable, his Little Bird.

"Something wrong, Lady Stark?" Sandor smirked up at her.

He watched her narrow her eyes at his teasing and then her eyes darkened so quickly and so deeply that he felt himself instantly begin to harden just from the look she was giving him. Then she wrapped one small hand in his hair and fucking PULLED. He grunted and more blood fled to between his legs. Sansa moved her lips to press harshly against his, hot and hungry, and he slid his own hands to her hair to tug lightly at her silky strands in turn.

Vaguely, Sandor was aware she was using this to escape from the ugly feelings her nightmare left behind. The thing was, though, he was no stranger to drinking himself into a temporary coma in an attempt to forget the shit storm that was his life up until this past week. Because of that, he didn't very well feel he could blame her for wanting some of that to herself. So he matched her hunger and he kissed her back, biting her bottom lip and swallowing her shameless moan in response.

"Sandor..." she sighed, leaning back slightly to catch her breath.

He ran his fingers up and down her spine, reveling in the shiver her body gave. "What do you need, Little Bird?"

Sansa flushed and bit her lip again. She looked down at him helplessly. Normally, he would have made her say it. He might have made her beg, that blush was so fucking pretty. But since she had just been trapped in the hell of her nightmares, he took pity on her.

"You need to cum, girl? Is that what you need?"

She blushed even deeper but nodded at him shyly, causing Sandor to smirk in reply.

He couldn't resist teasing her, at least a little bit. He rocked his length up to her core and she let out a surprised groan. "Say please..."

"Please!" she begged in a breathy whisper.

Oh...fuck...He was not expecting her to be that fucking sexy when she did that. He felt the need for friction match her own and he reached down to squeeze her hips tightly, dragging her cunt over his length and listening to her moan above him. He released her hips after but a few moments before he put his hands behind his head. Sansa's pretty little brow furrowed and she looked at him confused.

"This is about you, Little Bird," he told her. "Take what you want."

Her smile was radiant as she began to rock on top of him. Sandor grit his teeth and stilled his hips, letting her set her own pace and chase her own pleasure.

He was getting close now, and he could tell she was, too. "Fuck! That's it, good girl," he growled. "Get yourself off with my cock, that feels fucking amazing."

Sansa let her head roll back and all that came from her mouth was whimpers. "That's it," Sandor egged her on. "Cum all over me, Little Bird. Want to see it. Be a good girl and FUCKING cum for me."

She threw her head back in a silent scream as her thighs squeezed him and her whole body went rigid. He watched her mouth drop open in pleasure and he grunted, letting her ride it out. When her hips faltered, Sandor pulled her hips up to straddle his chest and buried his head in her hair. Ignoring her little mewl of protest, Sandor reached down and pulled himself from his small clothes, pumping his cock in long, hard strokes but a few times before he growled and spilled all over his thighs.

\---  
When she awoke in the morning, she was alone in the big bed she and Sandor had shared together. She stretched before quickly dressing and heading downstairs, hoping for a hearty breakfast after such an exhausting night.

Sansa was pleased in the morning when the small group of Clegane Gaurdsment rose from their seats around a long table and she smiled warmly, if a little tiredly, at them all. There was a lot of shuffling and 'my lady' before she found herself in front of a plate of freshly cooked bread and cheese with jerky. She was seated to Sandor's left, while he was deep in conversation with two men next to him on the other side. The other man sitting beside Sansa introduced himself as Jered Stilwood. 

"A pleasure, Ser Stilwood," Sansa said with a forced smile.

Jered laughed. "No, my lady, you'll find no sers here. Our men are all sellswords and common folk. And I see your discomfort, I know my elder brother Joss' reputation precedes me. And aye, he was a sure fit for the Mountain's squire. But assure you, I am much more suited to our Lord Clegane here."

Sansa relaxed and shook her head. "Of course, I should not have assumed as much. Each man is own."

"Quite," he responded with a gentle smile. Jered's dark curls and sweet demeanor reminded her of Jon, even if she was mad at her cousin at the moment. She found herself liking the man almost immediately. 

"I'm captain of the guard here, or at least the leader of this random assortment, though Bronn will likely be your personal guard when needed," he told her.

"Will you tell me who everyone else is?" she asked, curious who Sandor had decided to add to their guard. 

"Aye. Of course, my lady," he nodded. He gestured to each man around the table in turn as Sansa slowly picked at her breakfast. 

Pointing first to a stocky man with a balding hairline, currently staring into his mead as if it would suddenly make friends with him, Jered told her, "Lynard Swyft, distant relation to the landed knights of House Swyft. Lannisters were never fond of the Swyfts but Lynard is loyal and has a decent sword hand, even if he's a bit feebleminded." Jered shrugged and Sansa wisely kept her own counsel. 

"Rast Thorne, I know you recognize that last name. Alliser Thorne was a cousin. Thankfully, Rast seems to be a far more honorable soul than his late cousin." The man in question was a solid looking man with course blond curls and a chiseled jaw. He was quite handsome, but in a much more rugged way than Joffrey or even Jaime. His expression was irritated as he and the man beside him murmured quietly.

Jered pointed to the man he was engaged in disagreement with. Sansa noted the man's sharp grey eyes and pale skin. It was clear even whilst sitting that he was tall and almost lanky, with a scar bisecting his right cheek. "Sparr Rykker, brother of Ser Jaremy Rykker who is also of the Night's Watch. Nice enough fellow." While he and Thorne were clearly arguing, it was clear it was a friendly argument, for which she was very grateful. Discord among the escort would affect them all.

"You know Bronn, I have heard," he continued.

"In passing," she affirmed. "He was the personal guard to my first husband."

"Well, I am unsure of the details, but I do believe Lord Clegane and he met again sometime after the final battle in King's landing. They seem to be friends, though neither would admit to such." He winked at her and Sansa smiled. It would be good for her Sandor to have someone he could call a friend, and she hoped it was true. She made a mental note to get to know Bronn a bit better.

"Grenn Rosby," he told her pointing to a somewhat sickly looking gentleman. "He's an arse, if you'll pardon my saying so, my lady. Likes his drink a bit too much and yet can't hold his alcohol very well." Sansa fought back a giggle at the sight of Rosby's head lying heavily on the table as he dozed.

"Brynden Stilwood, that's my little brother there," Jered said fondly. The youngest Stilwood looked very similar to his brother, but his eyes were sharper and he seemed more reserved and smiled shyly at Sansa. "He's still young, but a good lad. Smart boy really, had we been born nobler he may have been a maester or some sort. We didn't have the schooling though."

"The other three there off in their own little corner of the world," he said with a chuckle. "That's Euron Payne, Reoff Swann, and Jamin Chelsted. They're always huddled together being silent and broody. A group of lone wolves who spend time as a pack. Don't expect you'll interact with them much, but they haven't given me a reason not to trust them, so I wouldn't worry. They'll protect you same as the rest of them."

Sansa smiled and took a deep breath. "Well, Jered, that's quite a bit of information to process. Forgive me if I can't remember all that tomorrow."

Jered snorted, "Took me 6 weeks, there's no rush my lady."

"I can't believe you know everyone so well," she said with a hint of admiration.

Jered blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Aye, just my job, Lady Stark."

Sansa heard a growl beside her and saw Sandor staring at the captain with a menacing countenance. Jered turned impossibly pinker and turned to the man on the other side of him, while Sansa lightly smacked Sandor's arm and laughed.

"Really, Sandor?" she teased, shaking her head.

He simply smirked down at her and shrugged, gulping down the rest of his ale. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, making her shiver lightly and her skin prickle with gooseflesh. "Time for a 'nap', little bird."

Now displaying her own flushed cheeks, Sansa wondered what exactly the filthy way he said 'nap' was implying. She nodded and stood slightly shakily from the table. "Gentleman, it has been a pleasure meeting you all and I hope to speak to each one of you personally very soon. For now, the journey has been very long, and I must retire for a bit more rest before we continue our day."

Sandor stood as well, his hand sliding down to her arse and giving a little pinch. While no one could see what he had done, Sansa couldn't help the surprised squeak that escaped from her lips, nor the darkening of her blush. "Stop chirping, little girl, and get up those damn stairs," he said in a low voice meant just for her.

"Good night!" she managed to blurt out, not even noticing that such a sentiment made little sense in the morning light, before scurrying up the stairs and back into their room.


	8. Let me feel you in my hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stone Sour - Song #3 (Acoustic)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzaIHzdZtRY
> 
> Next two chapters will be the wedding and the smut that was promised, the wedding night! Ya'll are patient, and I intend to make it worth the wait. ;)

The trip to the Clegane Lands remained largely uneventful, and as travel often does, it passed in a blur of fatigue and boredom. Sansa was a different woman around their escort, and one thing Sandor was certain of was that this difference was annoying as fuck.

Suddenly, "propriety" was important again and there was no more Little Bird riding with him or doing whatever she bloody well pleased. Now, if he wanted to touch all that sweet, soft skin he had to sneak around like a fucking stable boy trying to spy on the Lord's daughter. Which was ridiculous, because again, who on earth did she think their guard consisted of? Furthermore, his men couldn't give a shit if their new Lord and Lady were fucking each other or not, so the level of secrecy was even more unnecessary. ESPECIALLY since the Lady Stark and her mutt WEREN'T fucking anyway. But try to convince her of that.

As they came within a few days of their destination, Sandor spent an inordinate amount of time worrying about what she would think of their new home. Winterfell was vast, the younger Stillwood boy actually called it 'picturesque,' which despite making Sandor question why the fuck he had hired the man, was an accurate description. Even in the state it was currently, post-war, it was rapidly moving towards its former glory. Coming from the Kingsroad, one would enter through the East Gate to see the Great Keep to the left and the armory to the right. The Godswood itself took up a fourth of the whole of the Stark's land. There was the Great Hall, the Sept, the Glass Gardens: the whole place was sprawling, and that was before one even considered Winter's Town. There were servants a-plenty of all different descriptions.

Clegane Keep, by contrast, was spartan and empty. Aye, there were some people there now, but the village had long been neglected and it showed in the faces of its bedraggled people. With the last Lord being Gregor Clegane, it was no small wonder the peasants were afraid and resigned to whatever sort of tyranny the new Clegane would bring. The Hound's reputation was fierce and wide-known, it was much too violent to put anyone at ease. Within the walls of the Keep itself, the layout was simple and minuscule compared to Sansa's family home. A three story towerhouse made up the primary living space, while nearby were the stables, the kennels, the kitchens, a Sept, and a small armory. Of course, there were other small outcroppings for this or that purpose, but getting them all cleared and repaired had been a costly and time-consuming endeavor. Thankfully, Sandor's newly accursed lordship came with a sufficient purse, otherwise, he'd have been well and truly fucked. 

Sansa would have far less servants than she was used to, and those she did have would not be familiar with highborn ladies. He wondered if that had ever entered into that pretty little head of hers when she decided to seek him as her husband. 'Likely Not,' he thought grimly. Still, there was nothing for it. Blissfully unaware of his ominous thoughts, the Little Bird seemed beside herself with excitement at the thought of reaching the Keep. So Sandor did his best to prepare her for what awaited.

"Clegane lands could fit inside Winterfell 5 times over, you know," he told her with a sideways glance over dinner one night.

She smiled. "That will be much easier to manage then," she said happily before returning to her meal. He sighed to himself and allowed her to change the subject. 

"There is little help at the Keep," he reminded her not too long after whilst riding alongside her mare in the early morning light. "You'll have to do much yourself that you didn't before."

"Good," she responded firmly. "I'd like to learn more about the ins and outs of how a house is run."

Sandor scowled and ignored her the rest of the morning. 

"The people of the village are suspicious of the whole of the Clegane family," he snarled at her when they made camp that night. "Best not be hoping for a warm buggering welcome."

Sansa paused and looked at him thoughtfully, and he almost smirked. 'That got her,' he thought altogether smugly.

Then she simply shrugged at him and his jaw clenched. "Well, that's to be expected," she told him dismissively. "Respect and loyalty is, afterall, earned. They have suffered much. We'll simply have to work very hard to help them feel at ease in their new circumstance."

"That's enough!" Sandor growled, throwing the wood in his arms to the ground. "Seven Hells, Sansa, aren't you listening to me?!?!"

She slowly stood and smoothed her skirt before gazing up at him. Her hands clasped in front of her waist and she stared at him with a raised brow. "I'm sorry, shall I demand you take me back to Winterfell? Accuse you of tricking me into the marriage I myself sought out? Or perhaps you truly think me so naive as to believe that we are headed towards splendor, riches, and easy happiness at the home that until recently was occupied by the Mountain? I'm not sure exactly who you think I am, Sandor, but I am not dimwitted nor am I unlearned in how the world operates."

"I never said you were a fool, girl-" he started, but she raised an elegant eyebrow and smirked. He groaned before correcting himself. "I haven't said you are a fool BLOODY RECENTLY, but that doesn't mean you know every damn thing about the world. How on earth could you be prepared for the home of an until recently landed knight when you've grown in the "greatest house of the North?" For fuck's sake, you don't know a thing about it, Sansa."

She sighed loudly, crossing her arms. "I'd like to say your lack of faith in me shocks me, but that would be a falsehood."

Her face morphed to grim determination and she took one, two, three steps toward him until she was looking straight up at his face. It's not as if she had to work to hold his attention, she was fierce and beautiful and he couldn't look away if he tried. 

"Lord Clegane," she said with a tone that brooked no argument. "We have not been reaquainted all that long, so while I will forgive you your false misconceptions, I also feel it is my duty to correct them. I, my dearest betrothed, have been abused by the likes of Joffrey Baratheon and Ramsay Bolton. I have been manipulated by Little Finger and Cersei Lannister. I have survived starvation, rape, captivity, physical assault, and mental strain of the highest order. Do not presume for even a moment to believe that I am not capable of organizing the machinations of Baelish or the betrayal of the Frey's. The fact that I do not purport myself as they do is not because I am naive, it is because I will not deign to behave so lowly. To be perfectly honest, Sandor, your grave warnings of less people to serve me lunch or the necessity to show kindness to a group of people that have felt none to attain their respect fall a bit flat. So if you will kindly stop snarling and snapping at me in an attempt to frighten me into confirming your staunch belief that I'll realize I've made an awful mistake and not want you anymore, we could finish this bloody trip already and you can watch me as I show you how ridiculously wrong you are."

Sandor was fuming, but also helplessly affected by his Little Bird acting the wolf of her namesake. His mind failed him and he really couldn't think of anything to say to that immediately.t. Before he could come up with something, Bronn called out helpfully from where the entire escort had, apparently, heard the whole exchange.

"Not too long to wait, we'll be there in two days time, my lady." He sounded downright cheerful. 

"Thank you, Bronn!" she replied warmly, and Sandor stomped off mumbling about getting more firewood.

\---

He needn't have worried.

When they finally arrived at Clegane's Keep, Sansa was seemingly pleased. Sandor stared hard at those perfect features, searching for a hint of deception and the underlying feelings of distaste, but he could find none.

"You really are happy?" he said a few days later, with a bit of what a softer man might call wonder. It wasn't really a question, it was so obvious as she flitted about the tower house and made plans for the wedding, but it was still completely fucking mad that she was.

Sansa crossed from where she was perched in the window seat, embroidering her own bridal cloak as there was none that had survived to be passed down, and settled herself on his knee. His arms automatically rose to encircle her waist and he breathed her in, the smell of homemade bread and cakes filling his senses. She brought her hands to cradle his face and smiled brightly at him. He would never stop being shocked that she smiled like that FOR HIM.

"I am truly so incredibly happy, Sandor," she told him earnestly. "I will only be happier when we are finally wed." She pressed a soft kiss to his lips before standing and moving back towards the window seat. With her hips swaying as he stared shamelessly at her backside, he really couldn't agree more.

It was easy, so very easy, to decide to wait for the wedding when she had his cock in her mouth or when she was rubbing the burning ache between her legs along his length. But that was only 2 times over a month and try as he might, he had not been able to arrange for it to occur again. She would do nothing in the tents where the guard could possibly overhear and stays at inns had been few and far between. Somehow, something had always kept them from each other, whether it was a stupid brawl amongst the idiots who had the nerve to name themselves his men or the beginning of the fever she had developed that scared him to the Seven Hells and back three-fourths of the way through their journey. So when he reminded himself that in two weeks time he would be bedding his wife, his BLOODY wife, and that wife was Sansa FUCKING Stark, who could blame him if his breeches became uncomfortably tight?

With a curse, he tried to think of something, anything, to make his needy cock sit down and behave. He thought of blood and pus, and when that did nothing, he imagined Rosby naked. He ran through a number of disgusting images, but it wasn't until he pictured Trant buggering the Golden Boy King that he finally felt the relief of his arousal flagging. 

However, it appeared that it was Sandor's lot that he would be tortured all day by Sansa and her entirely erotic person doing completely unerotic things. How was he to contain himself when one of the kitchen wenches said something that amused her and she laughed so hard that her chest heaved and her face flushed? Of course, he thought about other ways he could cause the same effect, breath stuttering and Sansa reddening down to her belly button as he brought her off with his hand. He could surely not be blamed for his fantasies of bending her across the dining table and fucking her senseless when she bent at the waist to feed one of the hounds a morsel. He would have to be made of steel to watch her lick the cream of her soup from her upper lip and not wish fervently to devour her between her legs until he was licking her cream from his lips. He had not done "The Lord's Kiss" before, but Bronn talked a lot, with detail, and his Little Bird was so fucking responsive. She'd be delicious, and the thought of making her come apart under his mouth nodded to a primal urge within him. 

When he finally drug himself back to his quarters, exhausted and frustrated, Sandor thought heavily on any excuse to seek out Sansa, but he had none. So he brooded to himself, drinking of the wine left in his solar while staring outside into the dark sky. Finally, when he thought sleep might find him, he stripped to his small clothes and climbed into the bed. He wondered if Sansa would visit him tonight, as she did all the other nights, after the first nightmare. She was stubborn enough to go to her own room, but not stubborn enough to stay away, thank the gods. Then she would climb into his bed in a thin shift and he would be thankful for those times if she wasn't in so much pain because it was the only time he didn't want her so badly it hurt.

With a sigh, Sandor grunted as he ran his hand over his still clothed cock. He was jacking off more than he had as a greenboy, but desperate times, he reasoned. Undoing his laces, he spit into his palm and gripped the base of his cock tightly. The groan that escaped him at the sensation was loud and obscene but he couldn't seem to give a damn. As he teased himself with light, not enough touches, he thought of their wedding night.

She'd be stunning, of course. He'd be old and mangy, also to be expected. But after they were away in their room, which would be after absolutely NO fucking bedding ceremony happening or he'd be cutting off hands, he'd strip off her clothes and finally see, really see, all that those long dresses covered. He sped up his hand as he imagined taking one of her rose-tipped nipples into his mouth and suckling. Gods, the noises she was going to make for him. And he saw her then in his mind, sitting astride him as she had at the inn. But this time she was naked and instead of his dick rubbing against her it was rubbing inside her. Sandor was vaguely aware that the speed with which he was approaching release with only his hand and his fantasies was embarrassing, but without Sansa here with him, it was a means to an end. The end, of course, being not dying of blue balls before he was given the opportunity to know his bride.

When he saw her face as she found her pleasure in his mind's eye, the sight burned into his brain forever more from memory, he came with a roar and lay back on the bed, panting. He used the discarded small clothes to clean the mess he had made on his belly. He slept nude that night, and he dreamed of blue eyes, red hair, and soft moans spilling from his Little Bird's lips. He woke in the early morning hours, hard as a rock and painfully throbbing as Sansa climbed in beside him and curled against his side. Sandor pushed aside thoughts of burying himself within her and managed to hold his restraint. He stroked her silky hair and held her as she dozed. With a start, he realized that this was infinitely better than any of the pleasures to be found in the company of the many whores of Westeros. And it was to be his, for all his days, and gods damn him if he wasn't her bloody fool for it.


	9. I'll be the shelter that won't let the rain come through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remedy - Adele  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jT1taJStGOk

Sansa ran her hands up and down the beaded bodice of the wedding dress she had sewn for herself, beginning immediately after the raven arrived from King's Landing that her marriage proposal was accepted. She had to admit, it was some of her very best work. 

The garment was constructed from the softest light linen, colored the palest of pinks and showcasing painstakingly detailed needlework. The dress itself was sleeveless, which made Sansa blush a little but she knew Sandor would love that. The princess scoop neck was lined with pearls and the cinched waist lined with the same emphasized the flounced skirt. Across her left breast, above her heart, was an embroidered wolf. The wolf howled with its head thrown back up her shoulder. Across her right ribs ran the 3 Clegane hounds, bodies frozen mid-stride. Pale Winter Roses ran down her sides and burrowed themselves within and throughout her skirts. Instead of buttons to hold her dress in the back, Sansa had added ribbons in the same color as her roses. 

As she stood in her shift thinking of how Sandor would react to see her in her dress, she was struck with the magnitude of the choices she had made that brought her to today. She was a woman twice married already, and when the time came, she refused to wed anyone a third time but her own choice. That was a dangerous gauntlet to throw down for a lady, she knew. But she'd done it all the same. She'd defied her cousin and her Lord Brother when they attempted to thwart her plans, and she'd given them a piece of her mind to boot. She would marry in a small sept with no relatives to see her wed when she had dreamed of the Godswood at Winterfell. Even after what happened with Ramsay, she had wanted to marry there this time, for the wedding she chose. Now she stood in a small room in Clegane Keep, no mother or goodmother to help her prepare, no father or brother to give her away, no Godswood, no friends, and with only the wedding accessories and decorations she had arranged for herself and her betrothed. 

If all of that difficulty and heartache had Sandor at the end of it, she would have it no other way. For someone who was having nothing she thought she wanted, she was unbelievably elated. 

In the end, it was the kind old kitchen servant, Mildra, who helped lace her ribbons and straighten her gown. Although Hema had come with her, and was joined by an additional hand maiden Audree, Mildra felt that a woman's wedding day should have the touch of a matronly woman, and Sansa could almost cry at the swell of emotion that brought to her. With her hair only braided at the top and hanging long and loose down her back, Hema draped her maiden's cloak across her back. Per her request, she walked to the Sept with only her ladies. 

Sansa stood at the entrance to the old building, with the light streaming behind her and judging by the gasps, she knew she must be quite a sight. Beauty was her curse, but on rare occasions, she could enjoy it for what it was and today was one of those days. The Sept was full, but only because it was relatively small. They were joined by their guard, Midra, Audree, and Hema, the three girls from the village she had offered food to in exchange for their help with the drapery and other simple sewing, their blacksmith, and the most prominent family in the village. She walked forward slowly with no accompaniment, again at her own urging. She alone had chosen this marriage, she alone gave herself away. This was on her terms, and what an unexpected and beautiful gift that was. 

Only one person's response truly mattered to her and that was Sandor's. When he saw her, his chest swelled and she could see the emotions play across his face clear as day as he was momentarily stunned into dropping his façade. He looked on her with awe, disbelief, and unadulterated adoration. He'd likely never admit as much aloud, but in that moment, she found herself almost frozen by the magnitude of his feelings for her. 

His hair was mostly pulled into a low bun, though some was left free to drape over the burns he was still so self-conscious of. He wore the shirt Sansa had sewn for him, which was simple white linen exempting the small addition of a winter's rose which matched those on her dress directly above his heart. His breeches were made of a smooth looking leather and in the tiny Sept, Sandor seemed to take up a fourth of the building at least all by himself. 

Her eyes never dropped from his as she approached the Septon and Sandor slowly, and Sansa momentarily forgot completely about everyone else in this room, in this world. She could not stop staring at him, lost in all that he was. His shoulders, so broad, that had always served as a shield. His piercing eyes which had stripped off her pretenses and saw all that she sought to hide. Large hands that could maim or soothe, so often relegated to hurting instead of helping. And his striking face, the one he hated so much, that she adored with all her heart because it was part of what made him who he was. 

The Septon smiled at her indulgently before turning to Sandor. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." 

With shaking hands, Sandor removed her cloak and Sansa fought the shiver that threatened to erupt as his callouses scraped along the soft skin of her shoulders. He then pulled the cloak she had made with her own hands for what would be their house and draped it over her shoulders. The heavy weight settled on her as tears filled her eyes. To another, perhaps, the meaning of coming under her husband's protection may be only and simply symbolic. To Sansa Stark, however, it meant the very real promise of what had been hers so long ago returning to her. Never again would she be without the protection of Sandor Clegane and in this world of uncertainty and fear, that meant something. 

Sansa turned to face the Septon and upon noticing Sandor scowl at her with concern in his eyes, she smiled beatifically. His face softened and they were brought from the moment as the Septon continued. 

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." 

The Septon produced a long white ribbon and signaled for the couple to place their hands in front of him, one atop the other. As he tied a knot, symbolizing their union, he smiled softly. 

"Let it be known that Sansa of House Stark and Sandor of House Clegane are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." 

Gently removing the ribbon, Sansa felt Sandor grip her hand when she moved to pull away, making her heart warm as she entwined their fingers. The Septon raised his voice and spoke firmly, as if only just now was he including the room at large. 

"Look upon each other and say the words." 

Sansa turned to face her groom and felt her eyes fill again. He'd probably make fun of her for being so weepy later, but she couldn't help it. Judging by the way his face filled with uncharacteristic tenderness, however, maybe even he would not jape about this moment. 

Together, they spoke their vows. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..." Sandor told her in that soft rasp that she adored, "I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days." She spoke with him at the same time, joyful and yet oh so overwhelmed, "I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days." 

Sandor's hand dropped hers only to hold her face between his strong, rough hands. He cradled her head as if it was the most precious thing in the world to him, and Sansa thought that was perhaps because it was. 

He leaned towards her, and when his face was but an inch from hers, he softly murmured, "With this kiss, I pledge my love." And then, his lips were on hers and she quietly cried into the kiss, sheer bliss and happiness filling her to the brim. The kiss was so soft and sweet that it made her heart ache, so at odds with the fearsome warrior whom she married. 

She noticed that the Sept was quiet and she blushed a deep red as she broke the kiss and shyly peeked at the crowd of guests who had witnessed their wedding. She had quite forgotten anyone was there. The expression on their faces would have been comical if she was not so flustered by how openly they had displayed their intimacy: mouths gaped and her servants sniffled and sighed happily. Sandor seemed to have the same thought as he also flushed and snarled, though it lacked its usual bite. She imagined they were probably floored at the tenderness 'the Hound' treated her with and the sight of them eventually overcame her shyness and she started to giggle. Sandor looked her incredulously, which only made her laugh harder. 

Soon laughter filled in the spaces of the Sept as their audience found her own joy contagious and Bronn at least recovered himself enough to clear his throat and begin to applaud. The rest followed suit as Sandor growled and glowered at them before pulling Sansa behind him towards the courtyard. 

Sansa was smiling up at him as he pulled her along towards the village. He glanced down at her and his lips quirked up slightly before he returned his gaze ahead of him. 

"You happy, Little Bird?" He asked quietly. 

She couldn't help but let out an ebullient little squeal, which had him chuckling. "I am so unbelievably happy; we're wed Sandor! It's exactly what I wanted." 

"Not regretting it yet, then?" He teased her, smirking down at her. 

She tugged on his hand pulling him to a stop, before turning and placing her hand on his chest. "Never, husband," she murmured. 

She reached up and pressed her lips to his firmly, leaning slightly into his chest and listening to the way his breath hitched. Sandor groaned and leaned to deepen the kiss. In one quick movement, Sansa ducked and danced out of his reach, giggling like mad. She saw him stare at her momentarily stunned before she winked and gathered her skirts in her arms, taking off at a run towards the village. 

Sandor's baritone laughter echoed after her before she heard the heavy sound of his footfalls behind her. She screeched and tried to run faster, only to be caught around the waist and swung around in a circle, laughing the whole way.

"That's not very ladylike, Lady Stark," he whispered in her ear, causing her to shudder.

"It's Lady Clegane now," she reminded him as he set her to her feet. She took a moment to smooth her skirt and pat her hair before linking her arm through his. Just ahead was the area that had been set up for the reception. 

"Want to remind me again why in the seven hells you traded the Stark name for Clegane instead?" Sandor asked her gruffly. 

"Because, as I told you," she answered with an eyeroll. "If I wanted to stay a Stark, I'd have remained unmarried and simply stayed with Bran." 

"No," she told him firmly with a stubborn shake of her head. "I am yours and you are mine. You are a Clegane, my love, and so too am I." 

He grunted at her and gave her no other response, but Sansa just smiled. Yes, they were the Cleganes now. And together, they would redeem Sandor's family name. 

Whether he liked it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The marriage ceremony, as you are likely aware, is borrowed from the TV Canon. The words and rituals are taken from there and as such, are not my work.*


	10. Your power, It gave me new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disturbed - You're Mine  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vka6wPrB4E0

His. 

By all the old gods and the new, by some cosmic mistake or undeserved blessing, however it came about; Sansa was his.   
Sandor watched his new bride twirl and laugh with Rast Thorne, her sleek neck exposed as she threw her head back and laughed. The noise of her joy filled the open area like bells in the wind. He swallowed a long drink of the wine in front of him and frowned in bemusement, noting the strangely festive atmosphere. Never in the history of House Clegane had he ever seen people so bloody chipper. 

The wedding feast planned by the Little Bird was as unique as their tiny wedding, in that she had invited only small folk and lowborns. Her family was on the outs, for obvious reasons, but Sansa was determined to share the beauty and decadence of her day with the people who would lived outside their walls. She had expressed distaste at inviting their nobler neighbors (seeing as how they were all Lannister supporters up until very recently), which Sandor was 100% fucking on board with, it just seemed out of character. But he was beginning to think that maybe the truth was, he no longer understood Sansa's character at all. 

In the few weeks they had been here in his homelands, she had won over most, if not all, of the common people. Sure, they were still entirely unsure about him. But Sandor couldn't even think of a time when they had a Lord or Lady who earned anything but, at best, indifference from them and he was a bloody Clegane. So when the Little Bird arrived, all smiles and kind words, they were suspicious. When she asked for the best needleworkers to aide her in stitching new banners, in exchange for room and board, they softened slightly. When she invited everyone to her very own wedding feast though, that was when she truly won their hearts.   
So here he sat amongst his guests: the guardsmen, the small folk, the servants, and the beautiful Little Bird. Everyone was stuffed silly, full of blood sausage and fowl, cakes and breads. And soon, so soon he could almost taste it, he would take Sansa back to their bedchambers and he would make her irreversibly his own. With a consummation, nothing could part them save for death, and considering how many times Sandor cheated his own death, he quite liked the odds of them being together for a long time. 

Sansa collapsed in the chair next to him with flushed cheeks and a breathy sigh. "By the Seven, Sandor! I am having the most wonderful time!" She let out a content little hum. "It's perfect." 

"Like a song, aye Little Bird?" He teased her, but with no malice. 

"None that I know of," she answered with a smile. "But I much prefer our story to that of 'Florian and Jonquil.' And I would much prefer my fearsome warrior to a flowery knight." 

"Is that so?" He asked, still hesitant to believe it. 

"It is," she assured him with a soft smile. Sandor may have shamefully melted into his chair at her sweet face shining on him, had she not shot that innocent façade right in the foot by reaching under the table and placing her hand delicately halfway up his thigh. Sandor raised an eyebrow at her, but she simply smiled on before increasing the pressure and dipping her hand to the sensitive skin between his thighs. 

"Sansa," he growled out in warning. 

"Hush, husband," she chastised with a smirk before turning away. "Watch the dancers." 

Sandor faced forward, staring out at the couples dancing but seeing none of it. The only thing he could focus on was her hand running teasingly up and down the inside of his leg. He grumbled under his breath, but gods be damned, her hands anywhere near his cock felt so fucking good, it was difficult to remember why he should tell her to stop. 

When her lithe fingers moved up, up, until they brushed the laces of his breeches though, he choked on his wine and decided that they had been at the feast long enough. He shouted to Jered to come to the table before telling him that the feast could go on, but Sandor would be retiring with his wife. 

"Aye, my Lord. I assume you won't be wanting a bedding ceremony?" 

Sandor growled loudly, but Sansa just laughed before placing a hand on her husband's arm to calm him. "No, that's quite alright Jered. No one will touch me but my Lord Husband." 

At Sansa's proclamation, he felt his ire dim ever so slightly. 'Damn right no one else will fucking touch her,' he thought angrily. 'I can't believe she's going let ME touch her to begin with.' 

Sansa gave his arm a squeeze before standing. "Give me one moment, Sandor." 

His Little Bird flitted over to the musicians and asked them to stop playing for a moment before returning to the head table. The smallfolk had grumbled as soon as the music cut off, but seeing their Lady stand to speak, everyone quieted down. 

"Do you want to say anything to them?" She asked him quietly. Sandor snorted loudly and indicated no, he did not want to bloody 'address his people,' like the buggering Lord he was now. She shook her head, but let him be, turning back to the crowd. 

Sansa beamed at the village, and Sandor couldn't help it: he was so fucking proud to call her his. He may be hopeless at this lordship business, but she was every bit the lady she strove to be. "I want to thank you so much for celebrating this special day with us. Lord Clegane and I are so very appreciative to have you here with us as we build Clegane Keep up to what it should have been all along. This is your home, all of you, and you deserve to be proud of it." 

"Jered is the head of our guard," she told them gesturing to the dark-haired man in front of her. "Look to him to give you your share, we would invite all of you to take what leftovers there are equally and enjoy them later with your families." 

The small crowd erupted in cheers and Sansa smiled prettily, dropping into a slight curtsy. Then she turned to him, eyes alight with mischief, and held her hand out for him to join her. 

In a voice meant only for him, she said softly, "Tell me, husband, did you enjoy the wedding feast?" 

Sandor grinned and pulled himself to his feet. "Aye, girl, I did." 

She lowered her voice even further and leaned towards him, eyes wide and innocent. "I did as well. But now there are other delicious things I would taste. And suckle. And savor. I think we should move with haste, my Lord." 

He shivered in spite of himself. 'Innocent my arse,' he thought. 

"You best fly fast, Little bird," he growled. "Or I might have my own taste right her at this bloody table and what would all the small folk think of their proper lady then?" 

Sansa's breath hitched and she swallowed hard before she took a breath and smoothed down her skirt in an attempt to regain control. "Well then. Off we go, husband." 

\--- 

It was Sandor's wedding night and he was married to Sansa fucking Stark and he was going to cum in his breeches before they even got started if she didn't stop looking at him like she was a hawk and he was a tasty mouse. He wasn't entirely sure when he, who outweighed his little wife by at least 200 pounds, had become the prey in this exchange, but he had to admit, predator looked good on Sansa. 

"Will you help me?" She asked huskily, turning her back to him and sweeping the curtain of her red hair to the front of her shoulder. The ribbon holding her dress together was tied tightly, but he could tell that the silky fabric, once unknotted, would unfurl quickly. Her dress was going to hit the floor within seconds if she didn't hold it up. 

Sandor swallowed heavily and made some sort of graveled consenting noise before he walked across the length of the room and PULLED. The ribbon unfurled and Sansa DID NOT hold her dress up. His knees threatened to buckle when he saw what she was wearing under. Whatever that was masquerading as small clothes was nothing of the sort.

"What the fuck are those?" Sandor whimpered. 

She at least had the decency to blush. "They're Dornish, a wedding gift from Dany." 

The pale, purple scraps of fabric that barely covered her mound and cupped obscenely at her full teats were like nothing Sandor had ever seen. Her pale, perfect stomach was painfully beautiful and he had the completely understandable desire to lick every one of her ribs.

"Do you like it?" She asked him shyly. 

He very nearly yelled at her for playing with him until he realized that for some bloody reason he couldn't fathom, she was genuinely insecure that he wouldn't like her body or the wrapping she had chosen. 

"Seven Hells, Little Bird," he growled, grasping her hips (fuck...so gods damned soft) and pulling her to him. "Of course I bloody like it. The only thing I can think of at the moment, though, is getting you out of it." 

Sansa laughed and pushed at his chest weakly. "First, I think you need to remove some of your own clothes, Lord Clegane." 

"Oh, none of this Lord business tonight, of all nights!" he groaned in exasperation as he whipped off his tunic. 

"Really?" She responded breathily, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "You really don't want me to serve you, my Lord?" 

Embarrassingly, Sandor did not bite back a moan in time. Fuck. Apparently, there was one situation where being the Lord was 100% okay with him. His pretty little wife reached for the laces of his breeches, undoing them as she kissed across his broad chest. She pushed them to his feet as she knelt in front of him. He damn near whimpered when his cock bobbed against her cheek. 

"Little Bird," he told her while stroking the apple of her cheek. "If you take me in your hot sweet mouth, there will be nothing left of me to consummate this marriage." 

As usual, all her confidence melted into adorable bashfulness and she smiled up at him through her lashes. "But...then we can wait a bit and you can...you know...again, right? That's the way it was...before." 

He consciously ignored what 'before' referred to and chuckled. "Aye, little girl, you have the right of it."

"Well then," she said with a nod and a coy smile. "Might I serve you, my Lord?" 

What a sexy and downright proper way to ask to suck a man's cock. She didn't wait for him to answer before she wrapped her pink lips around the length of him and sucked, pulling him half into her mouth in one bloody stroke. 

He made a sort of strangled sound that he imagined wasn't very masculine. "Seven fucking hells, Sansa, warn a m-...Fuck!" 

Gods, but she was beautiful and apparently gods be damned eager as sin, cupping his balls and kneading them while she bobbed up and down like he would cum lemon cakes or something at the end and she was desperate for him to give her the treat. 

"Little Bird, for fuck's sake, you're gonna suck my soul out through my cock at this rate..." He whimpered at her. Pretty blue eyes flicked up to his and he saw the determination and challenge in them and he just knew he was in way over his head. 

To prove that point, Sansa relaxed her throat and pulled him ALL THE FUCKING WAY IN and HUMMED and, well, Sandor would defy any man to not finish so hard his knees knocked when his Little Bird did that. He cursed weakly as she happily drained him of everything he had before delicately releasing him and sitting back on her ankles. She looked up at him, dabbing her finger to the corner of her mouth to gather a bit of spilled seed. 

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh, so smug now, Little girl, but you just wait and see." 

He scooped her up off the floor, ignoring her squeak of surprise, and set her down on the large bed. "These," he said, indicating those evil, spectacular undergarments, "come off now." 

Sansa blushed down her chest but slowly complied until she sat completely bare in front of him. It came as no surprise to him, but he was still momentarily stunned by the perfection that was his little bird. And now, gods be good, she was safe and whole and in his bed. He shook his head briefly to clear it before reaching under her for her ankles and pulling her quickly to the end of the bed. 

She squawked in surprise and brought her delicate hands up to tuck under her chin, watching him with wide but excited eyes. "If I'm your Lord, I do believe I am honor bound to give you a Lord's kiss." 

Sandor dropped to his knees and her eyes followed the motion. It was clear she wasn't familiar with what the hell a 'lord's kiss' was, but that didn't surprise him. He doubted Ramsay ever did anything that would actually make her feel good, the sadistic cunt. But now was not the time to think of her past, not when he was pushing her knees apart. She tensed only a moment, but let them fall to the side seconds later. 

Trust. She trusted him so much, in a place that had caused her so much pain, and for the first time in his life, Sandor was humbled. It was proper, really. Sansa was the only thing he had ever worshiped. 

Beneath her curls lay a pearl of pleasure, one he was thankful to have knowledge of at this moment, and it was there he licked first after parting her silky folds. She arched off the bed with an uninhibited cry and he decided then and there that he liked this 'lord's kiss.' She tasted like woman; light musk, rosewater from her bath, and whatever taste made up Sansa. 

He thoroughly explored every inch of the space between her legs, sucking the lips of her into his mouth, plunging his tongue in where his cock would soon follow. She was wet and warm and tight and best of all, she was lost and wanton as he pleasured her.   
Her first orgasm took them both by surprise and he was enthralled, absolutely adrift in the blissful cry of ecstasy and clenching of her inner walls as she came, hard, on his tongue. The next 2 were easy to draw from her, Sansa was so responsive and so sensitive that simply the plunging in and out of fingers and worrying her little clit had her screaming his name and bucking. 

Sandor stood and wiped his mouth, grinning like the cat that caught the canary and he supposed he had. Sansa was boneless and languid, smiling happily at him, so he pulled her with him up to the top of the bed and began nipping and sucking at her neck as she came back down from her high. 

"Sandor?" She said softly, pulling him from his focus of marking her neck. 

"Mmm?" He replied, leaning up on one elbow to look down at her. 

Sansa blushed and looked away from him. He wasn't having any part of that, so he grabbed her delicate chin and brought it back towards him. 

"Just spit it out already," he groaned without any heat. 

She sighed at him, exasperated before she took a deep breath and seemed to be steeling her resolve. 

"I need you to know...I've never, um...that's to say," she stumbled over her words. He growled his annoyance. 

"Little Bird, we've already done this shyness before," he grumbled. "You've made it perfectly clear you aren't fucking afraid of me, so just say your bloody piece." 

"I've never done this before with anyone but Ramsay," she blurted, face flushing red and eyes lowered in shame. "I've never even...um...been finished by a man before tonight. Arya said it isn't supposed to hurt like it did and that it doesn't have to feel like that." 

She looked up at him with wide, open eyes. "But Sandor, I'm scared. I'm so scared. What if it still hurts so bad and I hate it and it's me, my fault, and I'm broken and oh, by the gods, you're stuck with a broken wife till the end of your days and-" 

Sandor covered her mouth and loomed over her. "Seven Hells, hold your tongue a minute, girl!" 

When she nodded slightly, he took his hand away. "Listen to me, Sansa. I've seen rape and I've seen fucking and they have about as much to do with one another as eating and choking. It won't hurt-" 

She went to speak over him, so he clapped his hand over her mouth and gave her a warning glare before continuing. 

"It WON'T," he said firmly. "Maybe a little stretch at the first, but that'll go quickly. And if I'm completely bloody wrong and somehow, someway, it still fucking hurts and you hate it, then that's that." When he took his hand away, she frowned at him and her eyebrows knit together. 

"Don't give me that look, little girl," he chuckled. "If you hate fucking, then you'll suck my cock and I'll eat your cunt for the rest of our days and that'll be just fine." 

Sansa swallowed hard and looked like she was about to cry. "Oh fuck, I cocked it up, didn't I?" He mumbled. 

"No!" She shouted, scaring the shit out of him. "It was perfect, YOU'RE perfect!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, hard enough that he moaned and briefly forgot his own name and boot size. 

His little bird broke the kiss and glanced at him through her eyelids. "Can I...be on top?" She asked quietly. 

He laughed at that. "You want to ride the Hound like a horse?" He chucked her under the chin. "Aye, you can be on top, Little Bird." 

Sandor lay on his back and watched his pretty little wife straddle his legs. He was painfully hard and the tip of his manhood was leaking, but that was to be expected in the presence of a gloriously naked Sansa. When she wiggled up his body and pressed his cock between his belly and the lips of her cunt, he groaned low and hard. She was still wet from cumming so beautifully in his mouth.   
Her eyes never left his as she raised up onto her knees and firmly grasped him, rubbing his tip along the arousal gathered there to ease his entry. Then she locked eyes with him and slowly began to sink down on his cock. 

"Shit..." He hissed as the muscles in his neck strained from forcing himself to be still as she took him in. 

Fuck...for the first time in his miserable life, he was home. It turned out, home was a place indeed, and it was the place between the shapely thighs of one little bird. She was warm and wet, tighter than anything he'd ever felt, and absolute agony to be still inside. And yet he waited. 

When she tentatively rocked her hips, he thought he may die now and that would be just fine. But what really, truly did him in was the chirp above him. 

"Gods, Sandor," Sansa moaned. "You feel so gooood..." 

Sandor rest his hands on her hips, thrusting up to meet her as gently as he could manage. "Fuck, so do you, little girl. So good, so BLOODY good." 

He brought his hands up and tugged gently on her perky nipples, feeling her clench around him and mewl her pleasure at the sensation. "Your teats are fucking perfect, you know that? Come on, girl, bounce for me. I want to see them move, pretty girl." 

She obliged him, lifting halfway off of him before slamming down hard and stealing his breath away. Up and down she went until Sandor was panting and chanting her name like the prayer they both knew it was. Even having already finished, she was too beautiful, too perfect for him to last this first time inside her. 

"Fuck, Little Bird, I'm gonna cum," he grunted. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel it." 

She nodded her head feverishly, whimpering and moaning as she fucked herself on his cock. Sandor reached up between them, ghosting over that little nub of nerves as he talked her through it. It was clear she liked it, judging by the way she clenched around him every time he spoke to her, and he didn't mind one bit. 

"You're going to cum for me, little girl," he promised her with an upward thrust to punctuate his words. "You're gonna cum and when you do, - seven hells- you'll milk my cock and pull me over with you and I'll fill you up. Oh, bloody fuck, gods, it's going to feel so good, girl. So good for both of us..." 

He stopped toying with her and gave her the pressure she needed on her little clit, bringing her to the edge in no time. He felt her flutter around him and he encouraged her, desperation coloring his voice as his own end threatened. 

"Come on, little bird," he gruffed at her. "Be my good girl and fucking CUM..." 

"Sandor," she whispered, locking her eyes with his right as she tipped over the edge. "I love you..." 

He felt his mouth drop open and then her walls were squeezing him, pulling everything he had to give from him. He came with a roar, harder than he ever had in his life, every nerve destroyed and rebuilt, singing and burning at once. 

Once he came down enough to have use of his eyes again, he stared up at his Little Bird where she smiled happily and dreamily down at him. His mouth hung agape and he was breathing hard as her words, that exact moment of ecstasy, rang in his ears... 

'I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you...'


	11. Poor Sweet Innocent Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evanescence - Sweet Sacrifice  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XBYhQnjyrWo

Life should have been sweet at Clegane Keep for the Lady of the House. A month passed, then two, and all was quiet and well. The keep itself had been renovated recently, after fallowing in the intermittent time between Lords, but the village was flourishing. In fact, it hadn't taken much but a little careful estate management to find enough funds to rebuild much of what had fallen into disrepair, and despite the outward shabby appearance of the place, it wasn't in as bad of shape as it originally appeared. For better or worse, the small folk had grown accustomed to not expecting any sort of aid from their Lord and had adjusted accordingly.

Left unattended for years, they had managed a rather large amount of farming and homesteading, considering the severe lack of incoming funds. Winter had come later to the Westerlands than some of the other kingdoms and had been much less severe, leaving significant reserves for Sansa to work with as she worked to instill stability and continuity to how the house was run. Sandor, for his part, was hopeless in Sansa's opinion but the management of a household was the job of the Lady of the house, after all. She had been raised to do it. He had other business to attend to.

All of her days' activities, however, were forever overshadowed by her nights. Time spent both in and out of the bedchamber with Sandor was wonderful, but then came time for sleep and for Sansa, sleep was anything but a respite. No, sleep is where the monsters lived now and while she was thankful they no longer invaded her physical space, her mind allowed no escape. And perhaps because of this, her blissful life always held an undercurrent of dread. When would this bliss be ripped from her? Good things had not often happened to Sansa in her adult life, and she spent much time praying to keep the bounty she had been provided recently. This happiness, she felt, had a price she'd not yet paid. 

Slowly, night bled into day and the flashbacks returned, as did the fear. It was as if happiness and safety created the space for all of the ugliness of her life to emerge where before there had been no room for it. Not knowing what to do, Sansa did what she did best. She hid it, most of all from her husband.

Shortly before 2 moons had passed, they received a letter from King's Landing. Jon and his party had completed business at the Red Keep and he rode for Clegane lands now, to visit his cousin. He could not stay long, the North still being in a precarious state of being war-ravaged at best, but he hoped to rest a fortnight.

Sansa sighed upon receiving the news and looked to Sandor uneasily, waiting for him to rage or storm out to take his unhappiness out in the training yards. Seemingly knowing what she was thinking, Sandor shook his head and snorted.

"I don't give a fuck if the dragon prince plans to visit, Little Bird," he told her. "We're wedded and bedded, what threat is he? He knows it, he only comes to see you."

Sansa huffed and crossed her arms, moving to peer out the window. "I'm not quite sure I've forgiven him, you know."

He chuckled at her and shook his head. "Doesn't much matter, girl. He's a prince and Warden of the North. He doesn't need your forgiveness."

"No," she admitted with a small, slightly tired smirk. "But he wants it, so he best behave."

"Aye," he agreed with a laugh.

Jon arrived on horseback a few days later, leading his retinue of men, some of whom Sansa recognized and others she did not. She brought her small household out to the courtyard to greet him, as was proper, and stood with her face blanked and her spine straight. She was exhausted, but it would not do to show it.

Jon dismounted and flashed her a tenative grin. 

Sansa dipped into a small curtsy. "My Prince."

Sandor gave a small bow that looked entirely uncomfortable and stilted.

Jon flinched slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. He was certainly not a fan of his new title, and even less keen on his family addressing him as such. "I'll take that to mean you're still mad at me then, Sans?"

She blinked. "I have no idea to what you allude, my Prince." She turned to Sandor. "You remember my husband, Lord Clegane."

Jon inclined his head, fixing his eyes on Sandor while periodically glancing back to his cousin. "Aye, Lord Clegane. I'm not sure we've officially met."

"Aye, we haven't, my...prince," said Sandor with a smirk.

Jon's cheeks tinged pink. "Ah, we're family now, aren't we? Please. Jon is just fine."

Sandor shrugged. "Fine by me."

Sansa cleared her throat and stepped forward. "Yes, well," she said with a thin smile. "My Prince, I'll be happy to show you to your quarters for the duration of your visit. We have made up a number of rooms on the uppermost floor for your retinue and the men have made room in the barracks for your guards and such."

Jon looked at her in a pained way. "Sansa...please?"

She held out for a moment more before sighing. "Sandor, would you please show the men their accommodations while I speak with my cousin?"

He chuckled at her and gave her a knowing look. "Aye, Little Bird. Leave it to me."

Sansa looped her arm through Jon's drug him away from the group while Sandor barked out for the men to follow him. She pulled him to the top of one of the towers that framed the gates and looked out across her lands and the village.

She dropped his arm and leaned against the railing, stubbornly refusing to look at him. "Well. Say what you want to say, Jon."

Sansa saw him smile to himself when she called him by his name but he was wise enough not to comment on it. "I already apologized, Sansa, but I'd like an opportunity to do it again and," he chuckled lightly, "hopefully better this time."

She still didn't meet his gaze, because she knew if she did, she'd cave immediately. Jon was very difficult to chastise when he generally looked like a kicked puppy when someone was upset with him. Instead, she simply nodded to show she was listening and waited. 

Jon leaned on the railing next to her and took her hand. "I am sorry for demanding you marry the man of my choice, and I am sorry for yelling at you. There are many reasons why I thought Ramus was a good match, and I failed entirely to tell you about them properly, but I do want you to know it wasn't just because I wanted the Dreadfort. Ramus truly seems to be an honorable and good man and I thought that maybe with you as the Lady of the House, the Bolton's could be more than nasty butchers. I want STRENGTH and HONOR in the Northern Houses, not just a Lord who does as he's bid."

Sansa sighed and opened her mouth to speak, but Jon held up a hand. "Hold on, I'm not done groveling." She tried and failed to stifle a grin.

"It's sometimes hard to think about what you've been through, and I've never known a woman to demand to make her own match. I really had not considered that happening. Regardless, I wish I had responded better."

Jon took her other hand in his as well and turned her to look at him. "I did not mean what I said about Robb. Sometimes, I think about how it may be different if he hadn't married Talisa. Sometimes, it makes me angry. But he was my brother and I loved him. You, Sansa, once told me I was always your brother, always a Stark to you when it mattered. Others may call you my cousin, but to me you will always be my sister."

"Jon," she said softly. "I meant what I said. You ARE my brother and-"

"Wait a moment," he stopped her with a grin, pulling her along towards the tower house. "Don't forgive me until you've seen the present I brought to bribe you first. Brienne will have gotten it to your quarters by now."

Sansa laughed and allowed herself to be steered towards her house before taking the lead to bring Jon to her solar. When she opened the door, she was greeted by a teeny, tiny growl and the sound of her husband softly cursing.

"That hurts, you little runt," came Sandor's rasping voice.

Sansa bit her lip and tried not to vibrate out of her skin. "Jon, did you get me a-"

A little fluff of white fur came bounding over Sandor's shoulder where he sat on the floor, barreling towards the newcomers to the room.

"It's a dog!" Said Jon proudly, albeit unnecessarily.

Sansa bent down and scooped the puppy up when he got close, nuzzling into his soft fur and letting him lick at her face. 

"Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed with a laugh as he proceeded to attack her with big, wet dog kisses. "He's so dear and cute!"

Jon chuckled. "So a good bribe, then?"

Sansa smiled at him, broad and joyous. "Aye, Jon. Consider yourself completely forgiven."

"Do you have a name in mind?" He asked.

"I'm going to call him... 'Lordling.' In honor of Lady."

Jon smiled softly. "A fine name, Sans."

Sandor stood and came to stand beside them, looking down at his wife with a smirk. "Good to know your forgiveness can be bought with a mutt, Little Bird."

Sansa ignored him, far too busy playing with her new pet. Jon and Sandor shared a look before leaving her alone to her companion.

\---

That night, Sansa, Sandor, Jon, and his retinue met around the grand table in the dining hall to eat and share company. Sansa wished nothing but to go rest with her husband and hopefully find a moment of peace but alas, first, they must see to their guests. Some of Jon's party were known to her. Brienne smiled at her and Sansa made sure to tell the other woman to come for tea the following afternoon, as they had much to catch up on. Tormund Giantsbane was loud and crude as always, which she had to admit she found strangely endearing, though her husband decidedly did not. Davos Seaworth greeted her with a nod which she smiled at, for Davos was a good man with a good heart despite them not knowing one another well.

Aside from that, Jon introduced each man to their hosts, each representing a Northern House. First, they met Haryn Umber, a second cousin to Lord Ned Umber, who was every bit as large and intimidating as the rest of the Umbers. Adryn Snow, bastard son of Torrhen Karstark, represented their house. Then came Gawen Glover, heir to House Glover, as well as Larence Hornwood, recently legitimized bastard of Halys Hornwood, and lastly Jardyn Mormont, who was related in some way to Lyanna, though amusingly no one seemed to know how.

When Jon came to the last man in the group, Sansa's whole body stiffened.

"This is Ramus Bolton," he told the couple, oblivious to her discomfort. "Recently legitimized bastard son of Roose Bolton." 

He looked so incredibly similar to Ramsay that Sansa quickly did an inventory of everything different just so she could breathe again. Ramus was bigger, more muscled and wide than Ramsay had been. He was also bearded where the late Lord Bolton had kept his face clean-shaven. Perhaps her saving grace in convincing herself this was indeed not her dead husband, however, was his eyes. Where Ramsay had icey blue eyes, Ramus' were blissfully green.

She was still having trouble remembering who this man was (and wasn't) and where she was until Sandor's hand slipped around to the small of her back. She looked over at and his strong gaze grounded her, told her that he would do whatever she needed, be whatever she needed. 

So with a deep breath, she was able to turn back to the newest master of the Dreadfort and offer a polite smile. "Lord Bolton, it's a pleasure to meet you. I hear wonderful things."

"Lord Clegane, Lady Clegane; the pleasure is entirely mine." He bowed slightly and was a picture of good manners. Overall, the meeting was anticlimactic, and Sansa was thankful for it. 

That night, as she lay in bed beside a snoring Sandor, she could not forget Ramus Bolton long enough to get some sleep, try as she might. In fact, she feared that should she actually manage to rest, her nightmares may have new fodder and she did not want that, not in the least. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to have bothered her. He was courteous, he made eye contact but did not leer, he was polite but did not linger overlong. So why had he left her so incredibly out of sorts?

With a sigh, Sansa pushed herself up in the bed and grabbed her black dressing robe with the yellow trim. She quickly braided her hair over her right shoulder and tied the robe loosely around her waist. She wandered around the solar, restless, looking over missives and considering her stitching. Finally, she huffed, giving up and deciding instead to go for a walk around the house and the outer wall. She strode towards the door, but as an afterthought she turned back and looked to the lazy puppy, lounging on a small pillow placed on the floor and watching her every move. Sansa smiled and beckoned him, tying a long sash around his neck to act as his leash.

She ducked out of her quarters, made her way along the corridor, down the stairs to the front door, and out into the cool night. Sansa took a moment to look up and get lost in the night sky, speckled with stars and beautiful unknowns as far as the eye could see. With a smile, she and her puppy proceeded to one of the towers by the front gate. From the tower, one could follow a path all around the interior of the keep and end at its twin.

Sansa was halfway up the round staircase to the top of the tower to the east when she found herself falling, tripping on something she had failed to see. A sharp pain splintered through her head and then, she knew no more.


	12. If the Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hozier - Work Song  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nH7bjV0Q_44&list=PLYgM0VxRrYA0MF_9yMNVX-m40NNJQq-N_&index=6

Sandor awoke to his door banging open and his little wife draped across the arms of Jered Stilwood. She was shivering in the cold, wearing only her shift, and blood was oozing from her temple. Lordling followed at his heels whimpering and sniffing. 

Sandor was up in an instant, fury and fear warring within him. "What the fuck happened?!?!?" He growled, fighting bloodlust. 

"I can't recall anything," Sansa told him, her face scrunched up in pain and confusion. "I must have fainted from the wound, because when I woke up, Jered was carrying me back." 

Sandor fixed his stare on the man. 

"I don't rightly know, my Lord," Stilwood answered cautiously as he set the Little Bird on the bed. "Her pup was barking and making a racket in the tower. My brother found her and immediately yelled for the other men to get me. He's gone for the Maester." 

Sandor's blood boiled and he backed the prick up against the wall, demanding to know how the fuck this happened from the captain of his guard, how the gods be damned Lady of the house was attacked under his bloody nose. Somewhere in the room he was aware of soft feminine entreaties for him to calm down, but he wasn't really hearing any of it. The maester, however, interrupted his tirade, followed by Jon and eventually, Bronn. 

Stilwood could thank the old gods and the new that Bronn arrived because Jon had not talked him out of killing the man for failing to protect Sansa and in fact, Jon was on the list of people death could be raining down on at any minute. 

After Bronn quietly, so only he could hear, reminded him that Sansa had not chosen to take a guard with her and everyone believed her to be asleep and abed, Sandor finally relented. Oh, he'd have blood, but he needed to focus. 

With a growl, he turned back to Stilwood and pointed towards the white pup at Sansa's feet. "Make yourself useful and take him to the kitchens. Get him some venison or rabbit, since he's apparently the best fucking guard we have." 

Then he turned on Jon, menace and anger dripping from his rasping voice. "As for you and your men, you get all of those cunts out of my Keep and into your little tents until I know who I'm gelding for hurting her." 

"Sandor!" Sansa protested from her spot on the bed. 

"Not now, Little Bird," he snarled, not looking at her. 

Again, Bronn was the voice of reason and Sandor fucking despised him for it. 

"Fantastic Idea, my Lord," Bronn said. "Your wife seems to think it a grand idea for you to go on and make an enemy of all the Northern houses. Oh, and put her cousin out on his arse in the wee hours of the morning." 

Bronn nodded before crossing the room to pour himself some wine. "Yeah. That's sure to go over well once she's all healed up. She won't have your bollocks in a jar or anything." 

Sansa huffed from the bed. "I am right here, you know!" 

Sandor flipped a small table by the wall before attempting to take a few breaths. "Fine," he relented through gritted teeth, turning on Jon. "You can bloody stay until we figure out who the cunt is, but you and your men stay the fuck away from her." 

Jon glared at him incredulously. "She's my family!" 

"And she's my wife!" He bellowed back, moving to bodily remove the man from the room  
.  
The Little Bird suddenly pushed herself forward and made to get out of the bed, causing Sandor, Jon, and Bronn all to rush forward in an attempt to stall her efforts. The maester, who had been attempting the same, promptly jumped to the side as the fierce men moved forward. 

Sansa screeched in anger as 6 hands guided her firmly back down into the bed. "Oh, NOW you bloody pay attention to me! No one is kicking anyone out, do you hear me?!?!" 

Sandor grit his teeth and forced himself to say nothing while the other two looked sheepish. He didn't want her getting her feathers all ruffled when she was supposed to be bloody resting. 

"Jon, go back to your room and go to sleep. And OF COURSE, you can come to see me on the morrow." Sandor turned to her with a snarl but she fixed him with a stare that would have a lesser man pissing himself. 

"Bronn, you will stay here and stand guard for now. And Sandor, you go calm yourself before you make my already throbbing head explode with all your blustering and bellowing!" She huffed a breath and stared at him. 

He growled at her, but he didn't want to make her headache worse, so he stomped out before anyone could say anything else to him. Sandor was going to fucking kill someone, but he needed to figure out who. He had thought about slaughtering all of his 'guests' as he raged down the hallway, just to be safe, but then he realized that would make 'Dany' and her very large fire-breathing assholes rain down death on Clegane Keep, and he preferred not to go out in any way that involved fire. Also, Sansa would be angry with him, so he refrained from complete and unmerciful bloodshed, if only barely. She was injured, but she was there, alive and being the mouthy Little Bird she showed him when she was angered. He could maintain his control. 

The younger Stilwood met him in front of the Keep on his way to the bedchamber with her dressing robe, which had been ripped along the back. The black Clegane symbol that was embroidered on it was shredded. 

Sandor took it with him as he made his way angrily to the stables. He was so fucking mad. He spent a half hour brushing grooming and trying to calm the bloody hell down before he was approached by anyone else. The maester was clearing his throat from his place beside the doors and Sandor turned quickly, dropping the brush and advancing on the man. "Fucking speak," He barked out impatiently. 

The maester did not flinch nor demure. "The lady took a blow to the head, as I'm sure you could see. Aside from that, there were some fingernail scratches on her back, near the scars. Assuming her dog started barking soon after the blow, she couldn't have been unconscious more than a few moments. I've given her just a bit of milk of the poppy, and she is likely asleep now. I'll need to reexamine her when she wakes." 

Sandor grunted in acknowledgment before sweeping past the man and back towards his bedchambers. If she was asleep, she couldn't very well kick him out of his own bloody quarters again. When he arrived, Bronn was watching over her, along with the Stilwood brothers. 

Sandor dismissed Bronn with a snarl and a wave of his hand, as he was the only one technically on guard, before ignoring everyone else in the room in favor of climbing into bed next to his little wife. Fuck em', he needed to feel her breathing and hear her heartbeat. Bronn cleared his throat before ushering the other men out. 

He stroked his calloused hands through the long silky strands of her hair and buried his face in her neck. Fuck, he couldn't think straight. Everything about her always cluttered up his head, but the thought of her being hurt drove him damn near mad. This was so much worse than it used to be, in the Red Keep, and that was fucking bad enough. She was everything worth anything in this world and he had to protect her. Needed to, just as much as he needed air in his lungs. Sandor drowned himself in the smell of her and waited for her to wake up. 

When the Little Bird finally opened her eyes hours later, he was struck simultaneously by the desire to pull her to him tightly in relief and strangle her for being so careless as to walk around without a guard. He settled for hugging her tightly whilst growling, their argument from earlier forgotten. 

Sansa gasped and turned in his arms, wide-eyed and frightened. When she saw it was him, tears welled in her eyes and she surged forward into him, hanging onto his chest like he may vanish if she loosened her grip. 

"Sandor," she squeaked into his bare skin. "Do we know what happened?" 

He grumbled into her hair. "Nothing yet, not likely to be much unless you can tell me something Little Bird." 

She leaned back to meet his eyes. "I don't remember. I couldn't sleep, so I took Lordling for a walk and I...I tripped in the tower. My head hurt and then...nothing." 

Her face changed then to fear again. "Oh gods, where is Lordling?!? Is he safe? I don't remember if he came back with me." 

Sandor chuckled. "He's fine, girl. I sent him to the kitchens for a reward, remember?" 

She let out a sigh of relief before snuggling into him once more. With a sigh, Sandor lightly touched a finger to her temple. "I have to go get the maester to check on you now that you're awake." 

He pushed her chin up until she was staring straight into his eyes. "Do not move from this bed, Little Bird. I'll put guards on the door and I'll be back as quick as I can, but DO NOT move from this spot. Got it, girl?" 

Sansa rolled her eyes, but nodded. "Yes, my Lord," she said with a grin. 

"Fuck your lords," he grumbled as he leaned down for a short kiss before reluctantly moving out of the bed and towards the door. He saw Jered standing in the hallway, presumably guarding the door even though he had been dismissed. The man looked like he felt guilty for what had happened to his lady. Good. 

"No one in or out except me, or I'll have your balls off and mounted on the walls of the Great keep, got it?" Sandor threatened. 

Jered only nodded. "Yes, my Lord." 

Sandor stomped off to find the maester. The crazy old man was not in his chambers unfortunately, which led him on a bit of a run around game through the keep until he finally located the man in the sept. 20 minutes later, they arrived back at the Lord and Lady's quarters. He paced impatiently as the maester checked her over once more before he finally decreed she had no lingering problems and, at Sandor's encouragement, made a swift exit. 

Sliding back into the bed, Sandor pulled his wife towards him roughly and buried his hands in her hair. He pressed his forehead against hers and took a deep breath. 

"Seven hells. That can't ever bloody happen again," he told her. 

Sansa giggled softly, running her fingers across his cheek. "Well, I certainly hadn't planned on it." 

His hands fisted in her hair and he pulled her back slightly to stare in her eyes. "I mean it, Little Bird. I can't fucking breathe when you're hurt like that. I can't strategize, I can't plan. That kind of rage...fuck, it's bloody unbearable." 

Sansa smiled at him adoringly before reaching up and pressing her lips to his. He tried to kiss her back gently, softly. She'd been through an ordeal and now was likely not the time to be thinking with his dick. But damn him, he couldn't bloody help it. She had scared the fuck out of him and he needed to feel her in his hands, needed to be inside her, make sure she was here and real and whole. Sandor felt like he had fought a battle, his blood burning inside him, and his body began to shake with need. 

He needed to stop. She was injured and he would not be gentle tonight. 

Sansa let out a breathy moan and clung to his neck. "Sandor, I need you..." 

Fuck. "Not a good idea, Little Bird. My blood's up. I can't be easy." 

She stroked her hand down his cheek and...seven hells! She bit his bloody neck and he moaned. "Good. I don't want easy." 

His whole body coiled like a spring as she bit him again, sucking at the wounds and driving him to madness. "What do you want then?" He managed to grit out.

She pulled back from his neck and met his eyes. He groaned deep in his chest at the darkness there. 

"I want possession," she said huskily. "I want to be consumed. Show me I'm safe, Sandor. Remind me that I'm here. Remind me that I'm yours." 

He ground his teeth in frustration, gripping her jaw in his hand and squeezing just a little. "How am I supposed to do that, Little Bird, without hurting you?" 

She licked her lips and his eyes followed the movement. "I don't care if it hurts a little. Are you going to make me beg, my love? Because I will. I'll beg you to take me." 

He brought his hand down to circle her throat, running his thumb up and down the smooth flesh there. "No, little girl," he told her as he let his self-control slip, if only a little. "I'll not make you beg." 

Instead, Sandor kissed her, swallowing the sigh she let out at the sensation of his lips on hers. He plundered her mouth, licking along her tongue, the roof of her mouth, her teeth. He kept his calloused hand wrapped around her throat, never squeezing but keeping her immobile and at his mercy. His kiss was brutal and bruising, demanding her submission and gods be damned, she submitted beautifully. Sansa surrendered under him, going soft and pliant and taking whatever he was going to give her. 

He released her neck to rip her shift down the middle, shredding it and immediately cupping her full breasts. She gasped in surprise as the fabric tore but said nothing, looking at him with half-lidded eyes as he kneaded her soft flesh. Sandor suckled at her breast, rubbing the nub back and forth with his tongue before mouthing at it and switching to the other. He spent a long time going back and forth until she was writhing beneath him, desperate and pleading. He drove her further until she could not control the sounds coming from her mouth, until she would go mad if he didn't touch her between her legs, and then he drove her a little further. 

"Sandor, please, please, PLEASE!" Sansa sobbed as he sat back to look at her, rubbing both nipples between his thumb and forefinger. 

"I told you there was no need to beg, Little Bird," Sandor teased her, but he wasn't sure she heard him. She was a mewling, needy mess and he was the one who had made it so. 

Finally, he released her breasts completely and settled himself between her legs, nipping at her thighs as he pulled her legs over his shoulders. He had yet to touch her, and now he spread her folds apart to stare at what he had done; her sex glistening and her clit throbbing with need. He blew cold air across her and she panted while her cunt quivered before him. He moaned as he watched her clench around nothing. Fuck, he was done teasing. 

Sandor dove into her, shoving his tongue as deep inside as he could go while he worked her little bundle of nerves with his fingers. She cried out at the sudden, overwhelming sensation and when she tightened, hard, around his tongue, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He fucked her with his mouth as she ground down on him, shameless and impatient. He could feel her orgasm building higher and higher, so he took her clit between his thumb and forefinger and pinched. 

Sansa came with a loud scream that cut off after only a few seconds, silenced by the intensity of her pleasure as her back bowed off the bed. Sandor wasted no time rising to his knees and plunging into her as her cunt was still clenching rhythmically. He set a brutal, punishing pace and figured regardless of what she said about possession and wanting to be consumed and that nonsense, she'd ask him to slow down soon and he would. 

But instead, her hips rose to meet him thrust for thrust and she keened and mewled and plead for 'More, harder, faster' and Sandor was only too happy to oblige his little wife. 

As he pumped in and out, he grasped her throat again. "Look at me," he demanded, albeit softly. 

Her eyes opened, hazy with her pleasure, and they cast around for a few moments before they settled on him. 

"This what you needed, little bird?" He asked her with a groan. "You know where you are? You know whose you are?" 

"Yes," she whimpered, nodding her beautiful little head with tears glistening in her eyes. "Yes, I need it. I need it, please..." 

He never broke his rhythm, only took her hips and lifted them to get himself a better angle. "Please what, little girl?" 

She was so far gone, he could tell. So far past shyness or shame, so when she answered him with honesty and yearning, how was he to deny her and last another moment? "I need your seed, husband. Fill me up, please, please, I beg you..." She moaned and clutched to his back. "I'm yours, show me I'm yours..." 

He moaned from deep in his throat, because yes, she was his. She was as much his as he was hers and he was hers completely. When he came moments later with a groan, he looked down at his stunning wife and suddenly he felt like he had been doused with cold water and fire at the same time. 

'Fuck,' Sandor realized helplessly. 'I'm completely in love with her.'


	13. We arm ourselves with the wrongs we've done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with some mental health implications and both of our main characters suffer from a regression to old defense mechanisms. If you would like more information before proceeding, see the notes at the bottom of the chapter.   
> It's a bit shorter than the other chapters due to the heaviness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing More - Go To War  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6CCcTClgYE

Sansa pushed her palms against her eyes and moaned quietly as she tried to find a comfortable position. She had been out of sorts for days and only last night she had been sick 3 times before the maester finally brought her something to settle her stomach. Now she lay in bed far later than usual, wishing for a few more hours of sleep before she should rise to attend her duties.

It had been 2 weeks since the attack on her person and nothing much had been resolved, aside from Lordling gaining weight at an alarming rate as Sandor stuffed him full of rabbit in gratitude. Jon and his party had been called back to the Red Keep and had been forced to cut his visit short, much to Sansa's dismay and her husband's satisfaction. Sandor had lost quite a bit of his smugness when Sansa cried openly as her cousin said his goodbyes and Jon had looked at her with such regret, she thought him liable to refuse the summons from the queen just to stay by her for hours if she could not get ahold of herself. Poor Jon, she knew, had suffered from lack of love in his life, and the sight of his family loving him made him weak for it. Thankfully, she was able to recover herself and see them off with a true, albeit watery, smile. 

Soon, the small folk would arrive with their petitions and her pupils/helpers would arrive for the sewing circle. Then there was the matter of seeing to the granary, which was still being assessed and counted for value. She had quite a bit of correspondence to handle and she would like to take some time this afternoon to have a walk in the village and spend some time with her people. All of that, however, involved getting out of bed, and that was proving an exceedingly more difficult proposition than she had imagined. 

There was the sound of boots in the hall and then her door opened to show her husband, looking at her curiously. He was tracking mud in from the training yard, she noted, and she fought not to sigh at the mess.

"Does my little wife plan to stay abed until I join her in it once more? Because if you wait for me, girl, there'll be no need for the shift," he teased her with a smirk.

Sansa giggled tiredly. "I've been trying to rise, Sandor. Really, I have, but by the gods, I am so weary, it's as if I haven't slept at all for days."

His smirk dropped into a frown. "Stay here while I get the maester."

She sat up quickly. "Oh no, don't get him! That's just silly, I'll be fine."

Sandor raised his good eyebrow and fixed her with a glare. "If you plan to lounge about in bed anyway, why the fuck not let the man have a look at you? Gods know he hasn't shit to do anyhow."

Sansa huffed and pinched her eyebrows together, but she could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't going to give ground here. After a few moments of indecision, Sansa rolled her eyes but nodded a reluctant consent and Sandor swept from the room without another word. When he came back with the maester in tow, Sansa tried to shoo him back to his duties, but he disregarded her entirely.

"Bronn and Jered can train them well enough, little bird," he assured her, not ungently. "You just let the man examine you and let me be, aye?"

He looked her over briefly and asked her questions to determine the nature of her ailment (if any,) but Sansa felt her heart stutter to a stop when he asked when she had last had her moonblood.

"I..." She started, but stopped when she couldn't answer him immediately. There had been one after the wedding, that she knew, but after that there had been...oh. 

She looked back at the maester who was patiently waiting. "I've bled once, since the wedding, before a whole moon had passed. I have not since. I hadn't even noticed." 

The maester smiled kindly. "That is often the way with these things, my lady. Based on your symptoms, I believe congratulations are in order. There are some remedies I can give you for mother's stomach, and the fatigue will pass within a few weeks. Let me know if any new pains or discomforts arise, and we'll treat them as best we can." With a final smile, the man took his leave and closed the door on the couple.

Sansa turned to Sandor with a small smile, expecting to see her own nerves mirrored back at her. She knew he had suffered and his father had failed him, so she expected him to be cautious, confused, maybe even frightened. She did not, however, expect the coldness she saw on his face.

"Sandor?" She said tentatively, reaching a hand out to touch his arm. He jumped and retracted his arm as if she had cut him.

Sandor took a few steps backwards towards the door. She noticed, with dismay, that he wasn't even looking at her.

"I should get back to the men," he said blankly as he turned to go.

"Sandor!" She nearly shouted, feeling panicked and confused.

He turned on his heel and sneered at her. "What?!?!"

Sansa's mouth fell open and she gaped at him. "I... truly? We just found out we are beginning our family together and you have nothing to say, nothing to add?"

"And what should I say, Lady CLEGANE?" He spat, as if the name was an insult. "Surely you didn't think this far ahead when you married an old dog, now did you?"

"Of course I imagined our children, Sandor!" She insisted.

"Then you are the same stupid girl you were when I met you," he snarled. Sansa felt as if the breath had been knocked from her body. No, this was not... he would not... 

Sandor advanced on her, climbing onto the bed and looking down at her with a grimace. "If you thought it through and you still decided to have Clegane puppies, then you have learned nothing in this world. What did I fucking tell you, girl? I'm a monster, I'm a killer, and with a father like me, you best believe, it will be, too!"

Sansa sucked in a quiet sob, but he did not seem to notice. 'It's fear,' she fought to remind herself. 'When he's angry with you, it is because her is afraid.'

He gripped her wrists and while his face was so very close to hers, she could tell he wasn't even seeing her. "This babe has not a chance in the seven hells. Clegane blood and Stark blood, that's a sorry fuckin' state of affairs! Mayhaps it'll be as noble as Eddard Stark, and die for honor. Or it'll be as brutal as the Hound, and wish it was dead. Not even the gods can help it if it's a girl, if the life it's mother suffered is any sign."

She couldn't help it, couldn't hold it; she felt the tear in the middle of her chest and she broke. Tears were streaming down her face now but her husband gave no indication he could see them. He closed his eyes and gave a loud growl before climbing off the bed and leaving the room, as if he had been the only one in there at all. He did not even bother to close the door, and as soon as she realized she could no longer hear his footsteps, Sansa realized she had stopped breathing at some point.

She sucked in a long, desperate breath of air and when she let it out, it emerged as a high-pitched sob. She felt frantic and dazed. Like a bolt of lightning, a deep haze swept over her entirely, and she realized that she felt as a passenger in her own body, no longer driving her own arms and legs as she dried her eyes and braided her hair. 

_"You aren't safe here,"_  a voice that often spoke to her in her darkest moments cooed to her. " _No one can protect anyone."_

She pulled on a dress that required no aid from any hand maidens, dismissing Hema when she came to offer help, and Sansa pulled a cloak on. She slid the dagger Arya had given her into her bodice, but she forgot her boots and had to double back.  

Joffrey's voice rang in her ears _. "Maybe I’ll pay you a visit tonight after my uncle passes out. How’d you like that? You wouldn’t. That’s all right... Ser Meryn and Ser Boras will hold you down."_

Sansa walked calmly down the hall, vaguely aware people were saying things to her, but she paid it no mind and only offered a placid smile, should anyone care to look at her. 

_"Our time together is about to come to an end. That's all right. You can't kill me. I'm part of you now,"_ whispered Ramsay.

She did not pause as she walked out the front door of the tower house, nor did she look around as she headed for the gates. Instead, she walked straight through as if she was headed to the village. 

Littlefinger murmured to her, _"_ _Everyone_ _is your enemy, everyone is your friend... every possible series of events is happening all at once."_

But where she would have continued straight, Sansa turned left instead and headed down a small path that led into the forest. 

It seemed to her, in that moment, that all would be well if only she kept walking, and it was of the utmost importance to get away from people. People were dangerous, she knew that, so silly for her to forget, really. A small voice in the back of her head spoke of her love for Sandor, her duty to her people.

_"No, Little Bird. I won't hurt you,"_  her husband's voice rasped in her mind.

 But it was drowned out easily by a buzzing in her ears, a numbness in her heart. At random, she veered off the path and walked off into the unmarked woods.

There was no plan, as such, to her trip. Only the primal need for distance from threats, and there were so very many threats in Clegane Keep. Threats were in the unknown, and truths that she believed whole heartedly and yet could not trust. Sansa could not help but believe, not matter how much she wished not to, that every man had the potential to be dangerous when they were angry. She supposed the same could be said for women, though she had less experience with that. She was safe with Sandor, she knew that. KNEW IT. But how was she to trust what she knew? Her mind was a scarred and broken thing and she knew how often she had been fooled. Mayhaps she was, truly, the same stupid little girl. Or maybe she had finally lost her mind to grief and suffering. 

Perhaps this was simply an elaborate daydream and she would awake to find herself under Ramsay's fists at Winterfell. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't the circumstances that were fake, but her herself. Was she real? Was anything?

She glanced down at her hands, then her feet, and all seemed to be in order, and yet she had the vaguest feeling she did not exist. Or that this person in this body was not her, but someone else. Sansa may have scoffed at such a silly notion, but what was left of the unknown and impossible was small indeed these days. 

'Oh dear,' she thought, looking around. 'I've no idea where I am.'

That thought should have disturbed her. It did not. But she was very tired and in desperate need of a nap, so Sansa simply lay her cloak down and curled up on top of it, alone in the middle of the woods and unable to think anything of it. She wondered at the time, but not enough to find the sun in the sky. It hardly mattered.

Vaguely, she realized she was crying again, but she couldn't find it in her to care about that either. Eventually, Sansa's eyes closed, and she drifted off with salty streaks stained on her face and lacerations across her soul and heart ripped wide open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without giving away the entire plotline:
> 
> Both characters are going to suffer a disassociative episode, which is a semi-common side effect of PTSD.
> 
> "Dissociation can be defined as disruptions in aspects of consciousness, identity, memory, physical actions and/or the environment." (https://www.healthyplace.com/abuse/dissociative-identity-disorder/definition-of-dissociation-symptoms-causes-treatments/)
> 
> There are many different ways dissociation can manifest, but in this chapter Sansa experiences two kinds: the first being that she feels she is a passenger in her body and lacks the same ability to decide her actions that she usually would, and the second being the sense that herself, her environment, or both are somehow distorted or not real.
> 
> Sandor's perspective is not shown here, but we will see him give into anger as a response to uncertainty and fear from Sansa's perspective. His actions begin to manifest from a place within him that is not connected to his conscious thought processes, a facet of his own, lesser episode.
> 
> If you are not familiar with dissociation, I will ask you to trust me when I say that an episode can cause you to behave as your worst possible self, no matter how recovered you are. So try not to judge our characters too harshly. <3


	14. In this abandon I will devastate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so unbelievably long! I had a family emergency come up and unfortunately was simply unable to get back to this. But I thank you for your patience and everything should be moving forward at a steady pace again. 
> 
> Demon Hunter - I Will Fail You (Lyrics)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0l0YOHO5jg

Sandor was up and off the bed he shared with his wife as fast as he could move, headed anywhere else but here. 

 

He slammed forward down the stairs and out the door of his childhood home, hating this place all the more. He could remember everything that had ever haunted these halls, all the devastating moments of his childhood, and he could not bear the thought of another growing up here. He could remember his sweet but feeble mother, always ill after giving birth to her last child. He could remember his weak-willed and frightened father, easy to bend and easy to break. His monstrous brother, responsible for so much terror and pain everywhere he went. His innocent and fragile sister, loving and empathic despite her blood. 

 

Here, on the very steps he walked, Sandor recalled Gregor pushing their younger sister Elli when she was only 4 so that she slammed her fragile body on the stone at the bottom and wept for hours. The kitchen held the fireplace where his face had been disfigured so heinously. His mother had died in the guest quarters above him, frail and wasted to nothingness. His sister was drowned in the pond by the village, and in the forest that surrounded the keep, his father had met his end on a hunting trip. Death and pain stalked the land of Clegane Keep and the temporary solace Sansa had brought to this place seemed to slip through his fingers. 

 

Sandor crashed through the front door and snarled at everyone who dared to look at him. This land, this keep, this whole fucking place was soaked in blood and tears and now they would bring a babe into it. 

 

For fuck's sake, he couldn't even handle loving Sansa. He didn't know he had the capacity, in all honestly to really, truly love someone until her, and he certainly wasn't ready to expand on that rather uncomfortable reality. But whether it was because the Little Bird was a bloody idiot or simply too stubborn for her own good, she had chosen to be with him. This poor fucking child didn't have a choice in father, and seven hells, did it get the shit end of this deal. 

 

He stomped into the stables and quickly prepared Stranger for a ride. Fuck! He knew better. Sandor knew he should have been paying attention to when they were fucking, he shouldn't have blocked this out as a god's damn possibility. How the hell, at his age, had he conveniently forgotten to acknowledge in his thick bloody skull how heirs were made? 

 

Sandor mounted the horse and walked Stranger out of the stables without so much as a word to anyone, passing through the gates quickly and through the village. He passed all the houses and came out the other side without stopping, coming to a full gallop as soon as he cleared the last house. 

 

This was a disaster and he fucking knew it. A babe that would grow into a child, a child that would have a monster for a father. The kid would probably make it his mission to run from the man who made him as soon as the pup could bloody walk. What child wouldn't be terrified by his face? And if that wasn't enough, there was always Sandor's charming attitude to alienate every single little Clegane he and Sansa brought into this world. 

 

When Sandor reached a fairly clear field, he slowed Stranger to a stop and dismounted. He started fluidly running drills, lunging with his sword and practicing blocks. It was mindless, meditative, and had been soothing since the very beginning of his career. 

 

Hours passed as he worked himself into a frenzy and back out again, allowing his thoughts to come as they may and trying to find that sweet spot where his mind would quiet. He never quite found it, but his brain slowed to a manageable degree as he swung his sword over and over, slicing through air and performing flawless footwork. 

 

His Little Bird, his beautiful wife, the Lady Clegane: she was everything good in this world. He had watched her put many a man and woman alike firmly in their place, but he had also seen her compassion and kindness to each and every person she met. Sansa was regal, the kind of woman who truly would have made an amazing queen had Joffrey been anything other than a cunt. She was unfailingly loving, but also justice minded and diplomatic. While she was merciful to those who deserved it, she did not hesitate to punish those who earned it. 

 

And instead of being a queen, she was the lady of a minor house. Instead of a prince, she married a dog. He wasn't even fucking nice to her half the time, try though he may. And yet, his stark raving mad little wife was bloody happy. And she wanted- WANTED- this baby with him. 

 

Seven Hells, but he was a bastard and a half for how he treated Sansa. He grimaced as he did the motions of a parry and roll, thinking of her tentative joy that he had completely annihilated. He was such a fuck up. Why couldn't he have simply smiled, said he was happy, or at least not said fucking anything at all?!?! 

 

Sandor hung his head and breathed heavily, attempting to slow his racing heart from all of the physical activity. 

 

'Well,' he thought as his shoulders slumped, 'there was nothing for it.' He'd have to go back to the house and he'd have to apologize and pray she'd forgive him once more for being a fucking ass. He was lost in thought as he tried to sort out what, exactly, he intended to say to his little bird when he heard the sound of hoofprints approaching. Turning on his heel, he was surprised to see that the sky had begun to darken and judging by the position of the sun, it was nearly dinner time. 

 

"Oy!" Came Bronn's voice floating across the clearing as he ran towards Sandor. "Are you lot planning to take up out here in the wilderness? Because if you aren't aware, there's a giant tower house and village a few miles back that is entirely yours, and a mite comfier that a bloody field." 

 

Sandor growled softly and made an obscene gesture with his hand. "Fuck off, Bronn," he told the other man mildly as he made to mount Stranger again. 

 

Bronn looked around the field, his eyebrows knitting together. "Where's the little Lady Clegane?" 

 

Sandor felt a small tendril of unease creep up his spine as he turned a keen eye to his friend. "She's at the keep..." 

 

Bronn's eyes widened and he shook his head. "That she ain't. The maester came looking for her, but since you were gone, we thought she was with you." 

 

A growl ripped through Sandor's chest as that unease turned to rage. "Where the fuck is she then?!?!" 

 

The man said nothing, simply looked on with cautious eyes as Sandor dug his heels into Stranger's flanks and took off at a gallop back to the keep. Bronn followed close on his heels, racing behind the man as they shot through the forest. 

 

An hour later, the Lord of Clegane Keep had torn the tower house and the village apart in the search for his wife and he hadn't found a bloody trace of her. Furious, he shouted for his guard to convene in the courtyard. 

 

Bronn rushed up to him as soon as the sellsword joined the rest in the large, open area. "Clegane," he said quietly, for Sandor's ears only. "The Stilwoods are missing, as are two of our better horses." 

 

Sandor could feel his body begin to shake as the possible implications of that statement ran through his mind. He could have sworn his vision became tinted with red and he knew his eyes must be black with anger at this point. Why in the hell would the Stilwoods want Sansa? It didn't make sense, but it was too much of a coincidence to just dismiss. When he turned his eyes on the man before him, even the cocky Bronn shrunk slightly backward before recovering his aloofness. 

 

"Bring me the three best hounds from the kennel," he growled at the one person he could even consider close to a friend. This man was the only person Sandor trusted even a little. 

 

Stomping off at a swift pace towards his bedchambers, Sandor fought not to fall into fear or rage completely, maintaining a tenuous grip on his control. He grabbed the first dirty shift he saw and moved quickly back to the courtyard. He gave the shift to Bronn with a nod, knowing the man knew to have his hounds scent it, before he mounted Stranger once more. He had enough presence of mind to be thankful that his horse had been resting most of the day and should be able to stay with him for the most important hunt of his life. 

 

"Bronn, Swift, and Payne," he commanded. "Saddle up, you're with me and the hounds. Thorne and Rykker, you will speak to the villagers. Someone saw something and they'll fucking spill it if they know what's good for them. The rest of you will stay and guard the keep, keeping an eye out should the Stilwoods or Lady Clegane return." 

 

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the men, his countenance fierce and unyielding. "If they do, both parties are to be guarded and confined to their fucking prisons. The Stilwoods go to the cells, and Lady Clegane to our bedchamber until I can figure out what in the seven hells is happening." 

 

With his retinue of men, Sandor took off on horseback with the hounds in front of him. They veered to the left at the fork that should have led to the village and he sucked in a deep breath of dismay. They were headed to the bloody forest. For fuck's sake, there were wolves and shit in that place, what in the name of the seven was she doing in there? 

 

His overall feeling of dread went swirling into full-blown panic when his hounds made to leave the path entirely. Fuck. Whether she was alone or with the Stilwoods, his little bird was not safe at all in the wilderness of the woods. The sight of his father's mangled body and his sister's bloated face taunted him from the recesses of his brain as he dismounted and stalked into the woods where his horse could not follow. His guard ran quickly to keep up with him, every man on edge and keenly aware that more beasts that just the Hound walked in this forest. 

 

It was becoming dark, too dark out here where the moon could barely penetrate the canopy. The men were forced to rely on their more primal senses as the hounds grew more agitated, obviously closing in on the scent they had been set to find. 

 

They found her cloak a mile and a half into the trees. Sandor picked it up in tight fists, feeling his body shake violently as he was assaulted with the sickly sweet scent of blood. The cloak was crusted with something else, and as the cloud cover moved enough for the small clearing they stood in to be illuminated, he let out a roar as he recognized what else lay on the cloak. He dropped it and moved to the side quickly, emptying the meager contents of his stomach as a wave of weakness that was entirely unlike him swept through his body. 

 

Swift moved forward cautiously and picked up the cloak, sniffing at it gingerly before grimacing and turning back to his fellow guards. 

 

"What is it?" Payne asked, eyes darting between his Lord and the cloak held in the other man's hand. 

 

Swift looked at the giant of a man who was rising from his knees after being sick before turning back to his friend. 

 

"There's blood and...there's a man's seed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one get mad!


	15. There's a Serpent in these Still Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Little Wicked - Valerie Broussard  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=46rUBCewhxY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***IMPORTANT***  
> This chapter contains a graphic depiction of a sexual assault and sexual humiliation. By its nature, these kinds of scenes are disturbing to the reader (and the writer, if we're being honest.) Please be aware of any possible triggers or emotional discomfort such a scene could cause you before you read this chapter. If you are reading this for the happy, funny, or deeply committed relationship storyline and this sort of horrendous content will break your heart, I beg you to skip the asterisked part. I don't want anyone hurting over a story, it's not worth it.
> 
> PS: I have already had a comment where the reader who I know from previous comments is a stable and good barometer of what is and isn't upsetting truly seems to have suffered for reading the depiction of the assault, so I need to make absolutely sure that this warning is strong enough, which is why it is being revised. I don't think I was clear enough, and that's my fault. It's graphic and it's disturbing. DO NOT read that part it if it is not something you are emotionally equipped to handle! There is no shame whatsoever in skipping over something like that.

When Sansa woke, she was immediately struck by confusion at the state she found herself in. For one, it was fairly dark, though not completely yet, and she was shivering from the chill in the air. Whatever she lie on was hard and lumpy. Her eyes cracked open when she heard the sound of male voices murmuring not too far from her. After a few moments, her brain processed that she was, in fact, in the forest and there were strange men in front of her. With a shriek, she pulled herself into a seated position and scrambled away from the sound until her back hit the rough bark of a tree. 

 

"Whoa, my Lady! Calm yourself, you're alright now..." 

 

She was breathing heavily, mind whirling quickly and making it hard to focus, but after a few seconds, she was able to recall who that voice belonged to. 

 

"Jered?" 

 

"Aye, my Lady," said the man in front of her, dropping into a crouch with his hands in a non-threatening position. "You're sa-" 

 

"Don't lie to the girl," the other man interrupted snidely. "She's far from safe." 

 

When Jered turned to the figure behind him, she could hear the frown in his voice. "Don't scare her, Brynden. We'll not hurt her." 

 

Brynden laughed, a cold sound that made Sansa shiver harder. "What exactly do you think Bolton is going to do with her? He doesn't want her for decoration." 

 

Jered stood and ran his hands through his hair, glancing back at the lady he was sworn to protect. "No, he wants what he believes belongs to him," Jered told him. "He wants the North, or at least sway with the Warden of the North. He'll not hurt her, he only wants her to wife." 

 

Sansa stared at the pair of them with an incredulous face. "I'm already married!" 

 

Brynden stepped forward and fixed her with a wicked grin. "Not for very much longer, Lady Clegane. You are soon to find yourself widowed." 

 

Her mouth dropped open as she looked between the Stilwood siblings, searching for any sign they weren't actually serious. On seeing they were, in fact, being completely earnest, she almost laughed. "You can't be serious. He's the best swordsman in all of Westeros! He's as close to invincible as a mortal man can come." 

 

Brynden took a few steps towards her and kneeled in front of her, causing her to shrink back into the tree as best she could. His eyes were cold and filled with a hatred she had never seen him show before, and it was frightening. 

 

"The Hound," he spat inches from her face, "has never had a weakness to be exploited before. But here you sit, my lady, the only thing that can truly kill that man. What do you think, girl? Think he'd die for you? You know he would." 

 

Jered jolted behind him. "Seven Hells, Brynden. Leave the girl alone. No need to make this harder." 

 

Sansa stifled a sob, because they were right. Sandor was vulnerable in one spot only, and when they held her, they held what they needed to break him. She shook her head and fixed Jered with pleading eyes, ignoring the man in front of her. "Why are you doing this?!?!" 

 

Before she could react, Brynden's hand snaked out and pinched her jaw sharply, forcing her to meet his eyes once more. "Why?!?! Because he's a fucking Clegane, that's why. Do you have any idea what that bastard he called brother did to me, did to my family? To my mother!?!" 

 

He shook his head emphatically, hands shaking with rage as he pushed her away. Sansa's eyes widened and she slowly slid a hand into her bodice, seeking the dagger hidden there. 

 

"His father was just as bad, that weak, sniveling..." he broke off with a growl of rage before fixing his eyes on her face again. The dagger sat hidden in the shadows, nestled in her palm. 

 

"Brother..." Jered started, taking a step forward to calm the younger Stilwood. 

 

"No!" Brynden spat forcefully before turning back to Sansa. "She asked and I'm gonna tell her." 

 

He leaned towards her and Sansa silently positioned the dagger in her palm so that she could lash out if she needed to. "Your husband, the fucking Hound, was the ONLY man who had any chance in hell of saving any of us. Did you know my mother made the bloody salves for his face when the Mountain burned him?!?!? He made friends with our eldest brother, for fucks sake, in the kennels! And then he just left, left us at the mercy of a monster, and he never came back." 

 

"My family was destroyed because each and every Clegane betrayed us, one way or another." He leaned towards her, eyes glinting menacingly. "The Clegane line will die, so you had better be thankful you won't be one for much longer." 

 

When Brynden moved forward with the obvious intention of standing her up, Sansa brought the knife level with his arm and slashed wildly. He howled with pain as his forearm split open. Blood spattered across her cloak as he wrenched his arm away. She pushed him backward as he rocked unsteadily in surprise and quickly scrambled around the tree. 

 

Sansa took off running at full speed through the trees but within 7 strides Jered had latched onto her waist and lifted her off her feet. "Please, my lady..." He pled with her as she wriggled and yelled, attempting to escape his hold. He carried her back to the clearing where his brother looked positively murderous. 

 

Brynden and Jered met eyes over Sansa's head and she watched as Brynden's face went blank and his eyes deadened. It was as if someone had pulled a curtain closed on his emotions, and it was far more terrifying than any rage she had seen there before. 

 

Jered set her on her feet and turned her to face him, grasping her shoulders gently. "My Lady," he sighed. "I am sorry you are caught up in this. Your husband is not who you think he is and I would never want to hurt you, but you truly deserve better. I am doing this for my family, but I think you and Lord Bolton will be happy together. He's a real lord, a true lord, and he will treat you as a lady of your status deserves." 

 

Jered seemed to be pleading with her to understand, trying to convince her that this was all in her best interest, but she couldn't even look at him. This was unbelievable. Jered sighed and gently pushed her back to sit on her cloak again before he walked towards his brother. They whispered quietly to themselves as Sansa stared into space, wondering how on earth things got to this point. 

 

She was carrying a babe, her and Sandor's babe, and she had been so very happy to receive that news. Then Sandor had done what he does best, he got angry instead of dealing with his insecurities, and her own weaknesses had surfaced into the perfect storm. How could she wander into the forest alone with a babe in her belly? Under any other circumstance, she would have never done so, and she knew it. 

 

Now, her own guard had turned on her and they were stealing her away to the Dreadfort and the Boltons. She was fairly sure Brynden was insane. And Jered was so convinced he was doing the 'right thing' that he didn't even seem to notice just how far gone his younger brother was. 

 

She startled when she heard a throat clearing and she looked up to meet Jered's soft gaze. "I will prepare the horses, my lady, and then we'll be on our way. If you need to eat or drink something, Brynden has a pack with supplies." 

 

Sansa panicked as he turned from her, effectively leaving her completely alone with the younger Stilwood. "Wait, Jered! Let me come with you." 

 

He smiled at her softly and reached down to cup her cheek. Sansa fought her impulse to flinch. "I'll only be a little bit, my lady. You'll be safer here until I get everything prepared." In the next moment, he was gone. 

 

She stared at her lap and tried to fight down the rising panic growing in her chest. Sansa startled badly a few minutes later when Brynden sat not 3 feet in front of her, smirking and carelessly tossing her dagger into the air only to catch it and do it again. 

***************** START OF GRAPHIC SCENE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 

 

"Did you know I always found you pretty, Lady Clegane?" Asked Brynden conversationally. "Of course, every man seems to. Pretty blue eyes, gorgeous hair, not to mention that figure." 

 

He took a deep breath and leaned forward, dagger now held in his right hand as he rubbed at his jaw. 

 

"Not to mention what you've got hidden under those dresses, am I right? You must know how many men want to get you out of your small clothes." He smiled meanly at her and scooted forward so that he was sitting directly in front of her. Sansa tried to shrink back, but he grabbed her hair and wrapped it in his fist, shaking her head harshly and painfully. 

 

"Move, and I will cut your pretty fucking face off, I swear by the old gods and the new. You hear me, my lady?" He threatened her calmly as if he was commenting on how the crops were faring. Sansa froze, realizing just how much danger she was truly in now. He grinned at her. 

 

"So I think maybe I'll get a little peek, maybe a little taste you know?" He continued. "Something to tell the boys about." 

 

He looked at her meaningfully and she swallowed a lump in her throat. Gods help her, this was bad. 

 

"Come on," he growled, pointing towards her chest. "I'll see those teats now, my lady." 

 

When she didn't move, stunned by his demand, he scowled at her and moved forward quickly, ripping aside the wrapped part of her dress and bodice and causing her right breast to spill out into his waiting hand. He tweaked her nipple and smiled when she winced, her eyes filling with tears at the violation and humiliation. 

 

"Would you look at that?" He sneered at her. "Look at that pretty little bud. All puckered already, sweetheart, is it the chill or do you just like it when I touch you that much?" He pinched her nipple again and she whimpered. 

 

"Lay down," he ordered. When she ignored him, tears raining down her face as she fought her own mind's defensive instinct to flee her body, he moved quickly to press the blade of her dagger to her throat, pushing forward until she had no choice but to lie back on the cloak to avoid getting cut. Keeping the dagger pressed to the delicate skin of her neck, he reached into her bodice to roughly expose her other breast, leaving her chest fully on display. 

 

"Oh sweetheart," he groaned, palming his breeches. "You really are beautiful." Without warning, he ducked down and sucked her nipple into his mouth, biting down hard enough to force a cry from her lips. Frantically, she tried to push him off, but he stilled her by pushing the blade harder into her neck. She stilled when she felt a trickle of blood slide down to her shoulder. 

 

Brynden released her and pulled back to look at her tear streaked face with satisfaction shining in his eyes. "I could tease those teats all day, but we only have limited time, so..." He sighed regretfully as he used his free hand to unlace his britches. He threw his leg up and over her chest, his weight pressing down painfully on her sternum as he straddled her ribs. 

 

He kept the knife poised at her neck as he stroked himself. "I'd love to fuck you bloody, sweetheart, but Bolton would be pissed the fuck off, so this will have to do." Sansa tried frantically not to look at his member as he thrust into his hand. Her eyes were blurry and her throat felt raw from suppressing the sobs that threatened to spill from her lips. 

 

"Mmmm," he moaned, eyes half-lidded and hazy with his pleasure. "Even if I can't destroy your little cunt, I could always make you swallow me. You want that sweetheart? You want to swallow my seed like a little whore?" 

 

Sansa did cry out at that thought, cheeks heating up with disgust and humiliation at being forced to do such a thing for a man such as he again. 

 

He chuckled as his hand sped up. "Naw, my lady. Not to worry. I have something else planned." With a grunt, Brynden spent himself across her cheeks and mouth, some of it spilling onto cloak beside her head. 

 

He smiled and rubbed the mess into her skin. "That's right, you little bitch. You spilled my blood, so I spilled my seed. You'll wear that all the way to the Dreadfort, you hear me?" He leaned back and spat on her breasts, rubbing it into her chest as well. 

"You think about this next time you decide to disobey or attack me, eh? If you do it again, I swear to the old gods and the new, I'll fuck your throat so hard you won't be able to swallow for a week." Brynden patted her cheek and stood, tucking himself back into his breeches. "Clean yourself up before Jered gets back. You really do look like a whore." 

************ END OF GRAPHIC SCENE. 

 

He turned his back on her and walked a few paces away, tossing the dagger in the air again and whistling as if nothing had happened. Sansa stared at the back of his head for a moment before slowly sitting up and fixing her dress. Her hands trembled, but when she had felt the heat of his release splash her face, something had ripped apart inside her. She was no longer sad and she was no longer scared. No, now, she was absolutely livid. 

Sansa pulled her knees to her chest and waited for Jered to return. She knew Sandor would be looking for her by now, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he'd find her. She had a baby to protect, and that meant she needed to be strong and for once, she needed to win early, before her child could be harmed. 

She glanced at the man who had just assaulted her once more. Soon, she would kill the second man of her life, but this time, it would not be with hounds. This time, it would be with her own weapons in her own hands. As she imagined his blood leaking onto the ground, she smiled.


	16. No forgiveness for all I've seen, a degradation I cannot forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disturbed - The Vengeful One  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8nW-IPrzM1g

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, writing the last chapter took some recovery afterward, which is why it took so long to get another chapter out. But now here it is, and we are reaching the end ya'll! One more chapter and the epilogue is all we have left to go, so enjoy. <3

Rage was a complex emotion, and it was one Sandor was intimately familiar with. Sometimes it could course through a man like lightning, make him fucking stupid and murdering any thought that was the slightest bit strategic. Other times, it froze his blood and his bones, silencing any distraction that did not move him closer to his goals. Right this second, Sandor had never been colder. 

 

He wiped the remnants of sickness on the back of a meaty forearm as he pulled himself to his feet with a grunt. His eyes slid closed as he pulled in a long breath. With concentrated effort, he pushed thoughts of what his wife could have suffered to the very back of his mind. He couldn't afford to consider it now, couldn't afford to imagine her any other way than safe and whole, waiting for him to find her. 

 

Sandor turned to the men who had accompanied him, letting calm hatred fill him and fuel him. "Let the hounds loose. The trail doesn't stop here." 

 

Wisely, everyone in his party kept their mouths shut as the dogs rushed forward and the men followed on foot through the forest. It wasn't long before they connected with a trail, one that had clearly been traversed recently. 2 horses, by the looks of it, had been mounted here and the trail that the hounds were following ended abruptly. Losing himself for a moment, Sandor kicked the base of a tree in frustration and let out a shout of fury. 

 

Bronn stepped to his side cautiously. "They're too far ahead of us to catch them with speed. We're going to have to track them." 

 

Sandor's face fell back into expressionlessness as he nodded. "We're going back to the keep," he stated as he turned on his heel and strode purposefully back into the woods. "Thorne, return the hounds to the kennels. Rykker, return the horses and make sure they have rest and are ready for travel. You will all rest a few hours and be ready to ride out before dawn. Enjoy it: it's the last time you're likely to sleep for awhile." 

 

He snarled as his fists clenched into tight balls, his footsteps echoing loudly in the near silent woods. "We're going hunting." 

 

\--- 

 

Rykker was nodding off in the saddle and Thorne was continually slapping his own face in a desperate attempt to force himself into wakefulness, but still they rode. They had been trailing the Stilwoods and his wife for a day and a half, but Sandor was determined to keep moving: they were getting close. He could almost feel the blood of his enemies sliding through his fingers, hear the pain filled snarling and spitting, taste the pleas for mercy. Those pleas would fall on deaf fucking ears, for there would be none. The men who took his Little Bird, and whoever the fuck they took her for, had never seen the kind of devastation he intended to wreak on their souls. He'd make any of the seven hells look like the heavens once he got his hands around their throats. 

 

He, himself, had not slept in over 48 hours and he knew if they did not overtake their quarry soon, his guards and horses would have no choice but to stop. Hell, he knew if he was honest, he would soon NEED to stop; adrenalin and determination will only get a man so far. But he didn't want to fucking stop. Not while the only person who meant shit to him was being drug along to fuck-knows-where by two men who she trusted to protect her. How many more men were going to disappoint and betray that woman? It was a wonder she let anyone with a cock within 10 feet of her anymore. 

 

"These tracks are fresh," Bronn said after staring into the dirt pointedly, fixing Sandor with a meaningful look. 

 

"Aye," Sandor confirmed with narrowed eyes. "Won't be long now." 

 

Their group had made up some time when the Stilwoods had obviously stopped to rest, leaving a small campsite poorly concealed for their pursuers to stumble upon. There had been torn clothes and over-exaggerated tracks where it was obvious his Little Bird was making their travels as slow and blatantly easy to follow as possible. Sandor grinned wryly to himself. Even though it was hard to feel much of anything other than bloody pissed under the circumstances, he was still proud of her for that. She had the kind of fire nothing and no one was ever going to put out, and it made him fucking insane for her all the more. He didn't even think it was pathetic anymore, how much of an idiot he was for her. She was like nothing else in this world of shit and piss and pain and he figured being an idiot for her and only her was not so bad, all things considered. 

 

Sandor and his men had been moving swiftly and quietly, not talking unless absolutely necessary. It seemed the Stilwoods did not adhere to this basic survival technique while being pursued, because Sandor heard them before he saw them, and he picked up his pace as his eyes darkened in anticipation. His heart pounded in his chest as he felt his consciousness slipping into battle mode, his hands itching to rend flesh and splatter blood. 

 

"-arrive within a moon or two," came Jered's voice drifting back to them. "I know you aren't used to this savagery, my lady, but perhaps we will find an inn or two where you can care for yourself along the way." 

 

A feminine voice rang out in response and Sandor felt himself almost fucking laugh in his relief at the strength of it. "I care very little for my appearance or comfort here, Jered," Sansa answered with a tone that was colder than lake beyond the wall. "I want to go home, to my husband. Anywhere else, be it a feather bed or a pile of dung, is unacceptable." 

 

There was the sound of a smack and a soft, involuntary cry that had Sandor moving into a gallop with a snarl, forgetting entirely about a stealth entrance in the interest of reaching his wife before someone stupidly put his hands on her again. Sandor added ripping the fucker's hand off and smacking him with it to his list of 'shit I'm doing to those bastards when I catch them.' 

 

The younger Stillwood growled, "There are worse things to lay down in than dung, little girl. I'd be ca-" 

 

Brynden cut off suddenly and whirled just as Sandor and his guards came into sight. Sansa was clutched tightly to his chest as he turned his horse around, her reddening cheek forcing Sandor to swallow bile and hatred down. Sansa, however, smiled widely at him and the sheer joy and love that poured off her at the sight of him was enough to embarrassingly make his knees buckle. Thank the seven he was on his horse. 

 

Almost lazily, Brynden brought up a dagger, one Sandor recognized as a gift from the she-wolf to his wife, and placed it under Sansa's throat. The man raised an eyebrow at Sandor and held up his other hand in a motion that clearly said to halt. When Sandor immediately stilled, signaling his men to do the same, and he snarled at the triumphant smirk that spread across the fucker's face. Brynden was looking supremely confident and pleased with this turn of events, but his brother was not fairing as well. Jered appeared like he might vomit and was nervously looking between each of the men, sizing up the situation. 

 

"Hound," Brynden greeted cordially, as if this was a fucking social call. "Wondered how long it'd take you to catch up. I was so hoping we'd make it to the Dreadfort, but this was always a possibility." 

 

"Less time than it'll take you to die, before I'm done with ya," Sandor gritted out through clenched teeth. 

 

"Maybe," Brynden said with a shrug. He brought his free hand up to Sansa's still reddened cheek and stroked it, staring down into her face absentmindedly. "But for now, I have something you want, very much, and you haven't got shit to bargain with. Tell me, what is it about this woman that drives so many men to distraction?" 

 

He turned back to Sandor with a smirk as he slid a hand down her neck and stopped just above the swell of her breast. "I had a little sample of the goods and I gotta say, I'm not sure what all the fuss is about. A cunt is a cunt is a cunt, am I right?" 

 

Jered gasped and looked to his brother with horror, as if he was just realizing something. "No," he whispered aloud, but his baby brother ignored him. 

 

Sandor took a deep breath in as his hands shook and once again, that poignant rage threatened to overtake his mind completely. She was his, but so much worse than that, she was hers and how the fuck would he ever be able to make her safe in that knowledge when people kept stealing and killing little pieces of her. He thought back to the cloak and the seed and the blood and his stomach dropped as he finally allowed himself to consider what that could mean. If she lost that pup, it would destroy her in ways nothing so far ever had. 

 

He watched as Sansa's eyes widened minutely and she shook her head imperceptibly. She smiled reassuringly and though it was forced, it was also not completely false and it gave him enough hope to not completely lose his fucking mind. 

 

"Let her go now, and whatever you've done to her will only be returned fivefold instead of ten before I end you," Sandor bit out. 

 

"I think not," Brynden answered conversationally. "In fact, I think she might go on and become Bolton's little whore, or she might die here in this forest, but the one thing she will not be doing is going back with you." 

 

His eyes hardened and he nicked the skin of her neck, causing her to grimace and Sandor to snarl and lurch forward instinctively before he got ahold of himself and stilled. "I didn't get to keep my mother, my father, Joss; your brother fucking tortured them and you and your father let them rot. Why the fuck should I let you keep her?" 

 

Sandor's anger was definitely getting the better of him now and he was done with this shit. Sansa was going to end up with her throat slit if something didn't change soon, and no amount of torture and vengeance afterward would ever bring her back to him. Jered looked utterly defeated, and it was clear he hadn't known what was really going on in his brother's head. Sandor would be surprised if Jered had any idea what kind of things his younger brother had done and was planning to do. Brynden, though; Sandor knew the look in that man's eye, because he's seen it in the eye of many a man towards the end of a battle or when they emerged from a dungeon after far too long. It was a kind of madness that showed up when a man no longer cared whether he lived or died, tunnel vision onto an end that must be completed before a man could let himself let go. It was a bloody dangerous opponent to face, and the only way to beat an insane opponent was by taking a risk. He fucking prayed to every god he could think of it wasn't a risk he'd live to regret, and then Sandor opened his mouth. 

 

"This is about my brother being the fucking cunt that he was and me not showing up like a knight in a story to fucking save you?!?" He laughed bitterly and shook his head at the piece of absolute shit in front of him. "It was never my job to fucking save you, Stilwood. Bloody hell, I'm only a few years older than you! Be a fucking man and admit it, if anyone screwed up, YOU failed your family, not me. My sister, my mother, my father: he killed them all! Their blood might be on my hands, if I was stupid enough, like you, to spend my time being a pussy and thinking about that shit. But your family dying and suffering? I didn't fucking come anywhere near that, ya cunt." 

 

"You want to cry about me, Stilwood?" Sandor taunted him. "You want my head? Stop using a little girl as a shield like a fucking nancy and come and get it." 

 

The scream from Jered for Brynden to stop was drowned out by the roar of rage that left the younger brother as Sandor finished dismissing the destruction of his entire family. Jered was still sane enough to count and understand the odds. Brynden was not. 

 

With a snarl, Brynden threw Sansa from his horse where she hit the ground, hard. Thank fuck the girl thought to curl her body and roll, thereby minimizing the damage such a fall could do in her present state. Sandor wouldn't really relax until the Maester had a look at her, but for now, there was killing to do. 

 

It was almost too easy to deflect Brynden's sloppy, immediate attack. He was disarmed and on his knees in front of Sandor within 30 seconds, spitting mad and fighting violently while Bronn and Rykker held the man down. Jered hadn't even put up a fight and kneeled with his head down, Thorne looking down upon him with disgust and pity warring in his features. 

 

As soon as he was confident the brothers were secure, Sandor was on her, pulling Sansa into his lap and holding her as tight to his chest as he could manage without hurting her. She threw her arms around his neck and clung, tears streaming down her face as she cried out apologies and words of love, assurances and gratefulness for finding her. He needed blood, gods how he needed to kill someone, but he needed her more so he sat with his wife in his arms for as long as he could stand it before he gently set her down and turned back to the men who had tried to steal his Little Bird and their babe. Thank fuck no one knew she was pregnant. 

 

Sandor took a step forward, thinking of all the ways he could rip and tear and maim, when Sansa stepped around him. The look on her face was stone cold and all signs of wet eyes or shaky hands had vanished. She met his eyes unwaveringly, fierce determination and absolute hatred swimming in their depths. 

 

"My Love, I will leave Jered's fate to you," she told him, stepping closer until she was staring up into his eyes. Her hair was unkept and wild, her clothes were torn, and yet Sandor thought she could have never looked more royal in her entire fucking life. "Brynden though...I must ask your indulgence, and your help. Brynden and I have business to attend to." 

 

He could deny her nothing, he knew that, but as he held Brynden's legs down so Sansa could unlace his breeches, as she spoke softly to the condemned man of 'spilling blood' and her spilling his seed now instead of him doing the same, as her dagger cut like butter through soft flesh and she smiled, he thought maybe he should have. Brynden's screams filled the air and his wife sighed and he wondered just how much more of her innocence there was left to be killed. 

But when it was over, her beautiful blue eyes filled with love and a peace that maybe only vengeance would have brought her and as much as he hated it, he thought maybe, just maybe, he'd managed to do this one thing right for her. In the long list of things he had thoroughly fucked up when it came to his Little Bird, he'd take what he could get.


	17. I'll follow you down to where forever lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shinedown - I'll Follow You  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IF5TfnmV0k

Sansa sat in the large bathtub in her bed chamber, sighing heavily as the hot water soothed the aches still pulling at her muscles. Sandor had barely let her out of his sight since he had found her in the woods with the Stilwoods and if the man didn't calm down soon, she was going to end up screaming or throttling him, possibly both. 

 

The first thing Sansa had done after taking her vengeance, strip by strip from Brynden's flesh, was find the nearest stream and scrub at herself viciously. She had lost her stomach a few times, and she knew this time it wasn't just mother's stomach. The kidnapping, the assault, and the blood had caught up to her and she had mourned the loss of another piece of her soul. But Sansa was not born a Stark for nothing, so she washed away the shame and uncertainty and left the creek bed Lady Clegane, strong and sure once more. 

 

Sandor had kept her firmly planted on the horse in front of him, his arm draped protectively across her waist constantly. He had pulled her firmly to him the one night they had spent sleeping in the woods, molding his body to hers and burying his face in her hair. For goodness sake, he had forced her to sit on his lap as he wrote letters to Dany and Jon, telling them of the Stilwoods' betrayal and Bolton's treachery. 

 

This was the first time in 3 days she had been allowed a moment's solitude aside from her morning adulations and she had a sneaking suspicion it would not last much longer. 

 

She was right. 

 

Sandor swung the door to the bed chamber open and through the screen she could hear him mumbling under his breath about the guards and their small folk and the maester and generally it seemed anyone who might require their attention. Sansa sighed quietly to herself before rising from the bath water and wrapping herself in a robe. She tied the robe together and came around the screen, glancing at her pacing and agitated husband. 

 

"Sandor," she tried patiently, crossing her arms as she spoke. "We have responsibilities as the Lord and Lady. The guard needs you to train them, for one." 

 

Sandor stopped and glared at her with narrowed eyes. "Bronn can handle it." 

 

"Yes, well, you have to choose a new captain." 

 

"That's easy. Bronn IS the new captain," he said with his brow raised in challenge. 

 

She sighed again. "Alright, but you have to pass judgement on Jered." 

 

"Fucker can wait." 

 

"And our small folk? What of them?" She asked, throwing her hands up, exasperated. 

 

"They can wait, too," he answered through gritted teeth, clenching his fists as he looked pointedly at the floor. 

 

"Sandor!" Sansa admonished him, tapping her foot. "You can't keep us locked in our bed chambers forever." 

 

"Why the fuck not?!?!" He roared, resuming his pacing. "Every time we fucking leave you end up getting assaulted or kidnapped or threatened with something or another and I can't bloody cope with it!" 

 

Sansa let out a deep breath and sat down heavily in the arm chair by the fire. "My love, you know that's not true. I know it has been a horrifying few weeks bu-" 

 

Sandor whipped around with such a broken look of pain and anger in his eyes, she felt his heart breaking. "It is true, Little Bird. Seven hells, but they took you to get to me! They said you were my weakness, and they were right. Fuck, but I am so weak for you." 

 

Sandor collapsed to his knees at her feet and kept his head down. "Don't you understand, girl? I'd kill for you, I'd die for you, but I can't live without you and they knew it. Others will too. When will it end?" 

 

"Sandor..." She spoke softly, reaching out her hands to cup his huge face. 

 

"Do you know how many enemies I have, Sansa?" He asked blankly, hopelessly. "I thought it was over, that part of my life was fucking done, but it isn't. It won't ever bloody be, and I've got you and our babe in the middle of it now." 

 

Sansa wiped her tears away and kissed his temple softly. She kissed his scarred cheek, then his other, his nose, and both corners of his mouth. 

 

"Sandor," she said with a soft smile. "This is the world we live in. This is who we are, the cost of the blood that runs in our veins. Perhaps we have paid our dues and now we will find peace. Perhaps not. You have been used as a tool of destruction and I have been used as a tool of manipulation, but we never allowed our captors to win. We survived, and that leaves a wake of angered and bitter people in our lives." 

 

She forced him to look at her and when he did, she forced all the determination and love she could into her voice. "I know this, husband. No matter what comes, we will face it together. You are Sandor Clegane, and you will cower from nothing. I am Sansa Clegane, and I will never break. I love you. No matter what anyone does to us, brings to us, we will meet it and we will conquer. One day, we will die, all men must die. But until then, we will live." 

 

Sansa widened her eyes meaningfully. "You...me...and," she added fondly, placing his large, calloused hand on her stomach, "our child." 

 

Sandor swallowed heavily and seemed to be steeling himself before he took her chin in his hand and brought her face closer to his. He kissed her firmly on the mouth and nodded. She could tell he was struggling to speak, trying to force his throat to work, so she waited. 

 

"You know..." He started, then stopped, gulping and shaking his head as if trying to clear it. "Seven Hells! I mean, you have to know by now- bloody hell..." 

 

Sansa laughed and pulled him into a hug, dipping down so she was also kneeling and snuggling into his chest. "Shh," she soothed him. "I do know. It's okay. I know you do." 

 

"And you should know," he told her, pulling back slightly to stare into her eyes with breathtaking intensity. "I do want this. I do." Gently, as if he was afraid he'd break her, Sandor stroked her stomach. 

 

"It took me awhile to get my head straight, fuck knows I can be a dense fucker, but I do want this." 

 

Sansa felt her smile stretch across her face as she beamed at him. She had hoped, of course, that he might come to terms with the child they had made. But part of her feared it was asking too much of her stubborn warrior. For him to say he WANTED it, not just that he would tolerate a child, but that he desired a babe with her too, was simply too wonderful. She jumped at him, pressing her mouth to his and knocking him backwards in the process so that she landed on top of him on the stone floor. He grunted a little at the strain in his knees before he got them out from under him and pressed his palms firmly to the small of her back. 

 

When she moved to deepen the kiss, Sandor moaned and pulled back slightly, watching her with dark eyes. "Are you sure you're ready? After...maybe we shoul-" 

 

Sansa rolled her eyes and cut him off with another kiss and this time, he made no move to stop her. Instead he met her passion with his own and she felt him harden quickly against her belly. 

 

Forcefully, Sandor pushed the robe from her shoulders, exposing her breasts and dusky nipples. He rolled them between his thumb and forefinger, listening intently to her mewl above him. 

 

"You're so fucking beautiful, Little Bird," he told her, his voice husky. "I know you've heard it before, but fuck, you really are." 

 

For a moment, just a second, Sansa felt her mind slip back to the forest. She heard someone else say she was beautiful and touch her with none of the care and adoration her husband treated her with. But it passed, and she was back where she belonged, pressed against her Sandor as he brought her body the pleasure that only he had ever given. 

 

Sansa rolled her hips against him, desperately seeking friction and he growled at her before he flipped them, pressing her into the stone floor as he ground himself against her briefly. He pulled himself back, denying her any contact, as he ghosted over her stomach and ribs. The rough linen of his tunic teased her over sensitive nipples as he slipped his fingers between her legs, rubbing at the wetness between her thighs and growling louder when he found her already slick. 

 

"I love how wet you get for me, girl," Sandor murmured into her neck, sucking gently before biting down. "My Sansa, my wife, my Little Bird..." 

 

Torturously slowly he worked a finger inside her, plunging in and out of her languidly as he studiously avoided her clit. 

 

"Please," she gasped under him, twisting in an attempt to get some contact with something, anything to relieve the pressure that was building with no relief inside her belly. 

 

"No," he answered simply before leaning down and sucking her nipple into his mouth. Sansa mewled, half in pleasure and half in exasperation as he bit softly at the flesh, causing her to tighten fruitlessly around his fingers. It just wasn't enough and he chuckled at her, causing her anger to rise. 

 

"Sandor!" She demanded, and he laughed, his rich baritone filling up the room and he moved to her other nipple. He brought his thumb up to rub her nub and she keened, feeling her orgasm building quickly. 

 

Her breath quickened as her walls fluttered around his fingers and her back arched off the floor. Delicious heat pooled low and just as she took a gasping breath and felt- 

 

Sandor pulled his hand away and her eyes snapped open and she cried out in dismay. She couldn't help the way she pouted at him and he nipped at her plump bottom lip. 

 

"Seven Hells, Little Bird," he grumbled fondly at her, rolling her nipple again and nibbling at her ear. "Just trust me. It'll be bloody worth it, let go and let me do this." 

 

His hand slipped between her thighs again and this time he immediately plunged two fingers inside her and began to thrust into her with earnest. She cried out as he lowered himself down and licked at her pearl, quickly bringing her back to the edge of ecstasy before he abandoned her clit again and slowed his thrusting, making her almost sob in frustration. 

 

He kissed her firmly, forcing her taste into her mouth and tangling his free hand into her hair, tugging gently. "Trust me," he reminded her against her lips. "This time, girl. I won't stop you, and you'll understand. Do you want to cum for me?" 

 

"Yes," she moaned pitifully. 

 

"You'll understand," Sandor promised once more as he moved once more between her legs. He licked all around where she wanted him, plunging his fingers in and out slowly, until finally he moved his lips to her nub. 

 

Sandor suckled her pearl and curled his fingers simultaneously and in an instant, Sansa's release slammed into her with white hot intensity. In all of their time together, it had never, ever felt this good and it seemed to go one for so much longer than usual as she screamed and clenched around him, fighting for breath as her world shattered to pieces. 

 

When she finally came back to her senses, Sandor smirked at her from between her thighs, rubbing the skin of her lower belly softly. 

 

"Did you like that, Little Girl?" He asked teasingly. 

 

She didn't even have the where with all to banter with him. "Gods, yes." 

 

His eyes darkened further and he flipped her unceremoniously onto her knees. She squealed in surprise and his chest rumbled in humor. 

 

"Good," he grunted as he quickly unlaced his breeches and lined himself up. "My turn." 

 

Sandor slid into her in one smooth stroke from behind before he cursed. "Fuck, Little Bird, you're still grabbing at me." He growled as he set up a swift rhythm that had her panting beneath him. 

 

"Sandor," she cried out, "it feels...so much..." 

 

He chuckled a bit breathlessly. "I told you to trust me. Bloody hell, all that teasing made you so fucking tight..." 

 

Sandor moved in and out of her steadily for a time, but she could tell he was getting desperately close to his own release as he sped up, forcing himself deeper than he'd been before and making her cry out with pleasure. She moaned wantonly when he reached around and began plucking at her nipples. 

 

"I need you to cum again, Sansa," he told her in that gravelly voice of his. "Touch yourself for me again, come on, I want you to cum with me." 

 

Sansa reached between her legs and began frantically rubbing that oh so wonderful place right above where he was sliding into her. She could already feel everything winding and tightening inside her and Sandor growled above her. 

 

"Good girl, Sansa. Bloody hell...that feels so good..." 

 

His thrusts were becoming increasingly frantic as he pushed into her fervently before finally his hands tightened on her hips and she found herself balancing precariously on the edge of pleasure. 

 

" NOW," he demanded as he pulled back once more and slammed forward. As if her body could deny him nothing, Sansa's cunt tightened impossibly and she could feel him pulsing inside her as she pulled ever drop she could from his pulsing cock. 

 

Sandor was panting heavily as he pulled back, leaving her achingly empty, and scooped her up, carrying her to the bed. She knew that there were people waiting for them, things to be done outside this room, but for now she simply had to agree with her husband. They could wait. Sandor smoothed her hair back as he settled beside her and whispered 'good girl' and 'so perfect' as she drifted off into a deep sleep.


	18. Hard rain, rough road. So my life goes..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Montgomery Gentry - If You Ever Stop Loving Me  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VI9NtR9wWrY

Sandor sat at the small table inside the kitchens, watching the fire crackling as he swallowed another mouthful of wine. Jon sat across from him with his own goblet, his pale cheeks tinting pink from the sheer volume the men had indulged in tonight. It was well past time that both parties should have been abed, but since the Starks and the Dragon Prince had arrived, this was the first moment that had that was not invaded with a wolf or a little bird and Sandor wanted details Jon would not share in front of his family. 

 

6 moons had passed since the Stilwoods had been brought to blood-soaked endings, the younger at the tip of a dagger and the elder at the sharp slice of a sword. Jered had certainly gotten the less painful end of his life when Sandor beheaded him, and though he fucking hated the swift end to the man's life, Sandor had given in to the Little Bird's pleas for justice instead of vengeance. The day he took Jered to the block was the day he learned that if revenge was sweet, justice was fucking bitter. 

 

Jon had only just finished reclaiming the Dreadfort before meeting Bran and Arya and traveling to Clegane Keep for a visit. The task of unseating Ramus from power had been nothing if not way too gods be damned long; the Dreadfort was nigh fucking unbreachable. But in the end, all men will eventually fall when the enemy brings dragons. Sandor shivered. Fucking dragons. 

 

"How'd it end?" He demanded, his gravelly voice breaking the quiet in the otherwise silent kitchen. 

 

Jon sighed and scrubbed his hand across his face. "How they all end. Bloody." 

 

Sandor scowled and growled under his breath. He reveled in blood, always had and always would. Jon, on the other hand, found it unpleasant and seemed to pine for a time when he wouldn't wade through death and destruction. Being the fucking Dragon Prince, King or Warden or whatever he was of the North, Sandor doubted that time was ever coming for the boy. 

 

"Seven hells fucker, stop stalling and being a fucking girl and tell me what happened." 

 

Jon smiled lightly and took another drink. 

 

"We'd been fighting for a moon. We would meet the Bolton's and their men in battle, push them back and they would retreat behind the walls. It was the same every time, over and over. No matter if we won or lost the battles, it's the Dreadfort, and it was impossible to break through. Dany didn't want to send the dragons, she hates to have them out of the Red Keep, and I don't think she believed me when I described just how hopeless it was to send waves of men against the walls." 

 

Jon leaned forward, planting his forearms on his thighs as he glanced briefly at Sandor. "She was getting impatient though. That woman, she doesn't like being lied to and she has a soft spot a mile wide for Sansa. She finally got angry enough that she came flying in one day unannounced, bringing hellfire with her, like always. The Dragons didn't need to breach the fortress, they just flew right in. Dany walked right through the fire and the screaming and simply opened the bloody gate." 

 

Sandor chuckled darkly, picturing the 100-pound, blond-haired little queen sauntering her way through a battlefield. That woman had bollocks on her most men could only dream of possessing. 

 

His laugh died down and his scowl returned to his face. "What about the Bolton cunt?" 

 

Jon swallowed, his face twisting in disdain, and took a long drink of his wine. "The coward tried to escape punishment by jumping from the battlements. He shattered so many bones on the landing, it would have been easier to name the ones he didn't break." 

 

Sandor growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "So the fucker killed himself." 

 

Turning to stare at the curly haired man in his kitchen, Sandor noticed the dark satisfaction in the other man's eyes. "Yes, he's dead. But it wasn't the fall that killed him. Dany ordered him to be healed to stand trial. The maester set his bones, kept away infection. I got the raven shortly before we arrived here. That man lived, if you can call it that, for a month, with no milk of the poppy or anything else, before Dany finally let him drag himself in front of her. Then she let Drogon eat." 

 

Sandor smiled and took another swallow of wine. Silence returned to the kitchen momentarily and the two men sat in companionable quiet. 

 

Jon's voice rang out a short time later, mirth slipping into the carefully spoken words. "So," he asked, suppressing a smile. "Are you ready to be a father, Lord Clegane?" 

 

Sandor scowled at him but had to hide the small grin that split his face at the thought of the babe growing inside his Little Bird's womb. 

 

"Fuck off, princeling." 

 

Jon's boisterous laughter rang out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, the epilogue, and the last little bit of this love story. I have had a blast writing this, and I think I honestly put off the epilogue so long because I didn't want it to end. But that's the way of it, I suppose. Even the sweetest things come to an end eventually.  
> Thank you to all of my readers who stuck with me through the whole thing, commented religiously, and were always ready with praise and constructive criticism. You all made this story what it is.


End file.
